POEMS  AND  BALLADS: 
SECOND  AND  THIRD  SERIES 


^jo  copies  of  this  book  have 
been  printed  on  Van  Gelder 
hand-made  paper  and  the  type 
distributed. 


L 


POEMS  S  BALLADS 

SECOND  £iTHIRD  SERIES 


BY 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE 


Portland,  Maine 

THOMAS  B.  MOSHER 

MDCCCCII 


GIFT 


CONTENTS 


PREFACE  ....... 

POEMS  AND  BALLADS:  Second  Series. 

THE    LAST    ORACLE 

IN    THE    BAY       . 

A    FORSAKEN    GARDEN 

RELICS       . 

AT    A    month's    END 

SESTINA    . 

THE    YEAR    OF    THE    ROSE 

A    WASTED    VIGIL        ..... 

THE    COMPLAINT    OF    LISA 

FOR    THE    FEAST    OF    GIORDANO    BRUNO 

AVE    ATQUE    VALE      ..... 

MEMORIAL     VERSES      ON     THE     DEATH     OF     THE 

OPHILE    GAUTIER  .... 

SONNET      (with     A    COPY     OF     MADEMOISELLE     DE 

MAUPIN)       ..... 
AGE    AND    SONG    (TO    BARRY    CORNWALL) 
IN    MEMORY    OF    BARRY    CORNWALL    . 
EPICEDE  ..... 

TO    VICTOR    HUGO        .... 
INFERIAE  ..... 


PAGE 

ix 


5 
II 

23 

27 

31 
37 
39 
43 

47 
53 

55 


74 

75 
77 
So 
82 
83 


848 


CONTENTS 


A    IJIRTII-SONG 

EX-VOTO  .... 

A    BALLAD    OF    DREAMLAND 

CYRIL    TOURNEUR       . 

A    BALLAD    OF    FRANCOIS    VILLON 

PASTICHE  .... 

BEFORE    SUNSET 

SONG  ..... 

a  vision  of  spring  in  winter 
ciioriambics    .... 
at  parting     .... 
a  song  in  season 
two   leaders 
victor  hugo  in  1877 
child's  song   .... 

TRIADS      ..... 
FOUR    SONGS    OF    FOUR    SEASONS  : 

I.       WINTER    IN    NORTHUMBERLAND 
II.       SPRING    IN    TUSCANY 

III.  SUMMER    IN    AUVERGNE 

IV.  AUTUMN    IN    CORNWALL 
THE    WHITE    CZAR      . 
RIZPAH      ..... 
TO    LOUIS    KOSSUTH 
TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  VILLON  ! 

TIIIC    COMPLAINT    OF    THE    FAIR    ARMOURESS 
A    DOUBLE    BALLAD    OF    GOOD    COUNSEL 
FRAGMENT    ON    DEATH  .  .  .  . 

BALLAD    OF    THE    LORDS    OF    OLD    TIME 


85 

90 

95 
97 
98 
100 
102 
103 
104 
108 
no 
III 
118 
120 
121 
122 

125 
136 

139 
142 

14s 
147 
148 

149 

154 
156 
157 


VI 


CONTENTS 

BALLAD    OF    THE    WOMEN    OF    PARIS     . 
BALLAD    WRITTEN    FOR    A    BRIDEGROOM 
BALLAD  AGAINST  THE    ENEMIES  OF  FRANCE 
THE    DISPUTE  OF   THE   HEART   AND   BODY  OF 

FRANQOIS    VILLON 
EPISTLE     IN     FORM     OF     A    BALLAD    TO     IIIS 

FRIENDS       . 
THE    EPITAPH    IN    FORM    OF    A    BALLAD 

FROM    VICTOR    HUGO 

NOCTURNE 

THEOPHILE    GAUTIER 

ODE  .... 

IN    OBITUM    THEOPHILI    POET^E 

AD    CATULLUM 

DEDICATION,    1878     . 

POEMS  AND  BALLADS:  Third  Series. 


159 

161 

163 

165 

167 
169 
171 
172 
174 

175 

178 

179 
181 


MARCH  :    AN    ODE 

187 

THE    COMMONWEAL   . 

192 

THE    ARMADA 

205 

TO    A    SEAMEVV 

235 

PAN    AND    TIIALASSIUS 

240 

A    BALLAD    OF    BATH 

248 

IN    A    GARDEN 

250 

A    RHYME 

252 

BABY-BIRD 

254 

OLIVE 

256 

A    WORD    WITH    THE    WIND 

260 

NEAP-TIDE 

264 

Vll 


CONTENTS 

BV    THi:    WAYSIDE. 

NIGHT 

IN    TIME    OF    MOURNING 

THE    INTERPRETERS 

THE    RECALL    . 

BY    TWILIGHT  . 

A    BAHV's    EPITAPH    . 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF    SIR    HENRY    TAYLOR 

IN  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  WILLIAM  INCHBOLD 

NEW    year's    day       . 

TO  SIR   RICHARD  F.   BURTON 

NELL    GWYN      . 

CALIBAN    ON    ARIEL 

THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

THE    WINDS 

A    LYKE-WAKE    SONG 

A    reiver's    NECK-VERSE 

THE    WITCH-MOTHER 

THE    bride's    tragedy 

A  Jacobite's  farewell 
a  Jacobite's  exile 
the  tyneside  widow 
dedication- 


page 

267 
269 
270 

271 

274 
27s 

276 

277 
278 
284 
285 
286 
287 
288 
299 
300 
301 
302 

305 

311 
312 

316 

321 


lNDi:.\  to  I'ORMS 


323 


vni 


PREFACE 


PREFACE 


THE  present  volume  containing  the  text  of  both  Second 
and  Third  Series  of  Poems  and  Ballads  as  originally 
issued  in  1878  and  1889,  completes  the  entire  collection  which 
under  this  general  title  began  with  Poems  and  Ballads^  in  1866. 
For  reasons  stated  in  the  Preface  to  our  reprint  of  the  First 
Series  in  1899  the  title  adopted  by  us  was  Laus  Veneris: 
Poems  and  Ballads,  that  being  the  name  in  this  country  at 
least,  "whereby  the  book  was  first  known  and  will  continue 
to  be  known." 

Heretofore  the  Second  and  Third  divisions  of  Boons  and 
Ballads  have  only  been  procurable  in  two  separate  volumes  ; 
in  bringing  them  into  the  compass  of  a  single  quarto  of  ample 
and  attractive  format  we  have  at  last  completed  a  design  that 
American  admirers  of  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne  cannot  fail 
to  appreciate. 

The  three  scries  considered  as  a  whole  present  a  body  of 
lyrical  and  elegiac  verse  unsurpassed  and  unsurpassable  in  the 
literature  of  the  world. 


XI 


POEMS   AND   BALLADS 
SECOND  SERIES 


INSCRIBED 


TO 


RICHARD   F.    BURTON 

IN    REDEMPTION    OF    AN    OLD    PLEDGE    AND 

IN     RECOGNITION     OF     A     FRIENDSHIP    WHICH     I     MUST 

ALWAYS     COUNT     AMONG     THE     HIGHEST 

HONOURS    OF    I\IY    LIFE 


THE    LAST   ORACLE 

(A.  D.  361) 


elirare  T<jj  /3acriX^i',  X'^i"'*'  iricre  SaioaXos  aiiXd- 
ovK^Tt  i>oi(3os  ex"  KaXv^av^  ov  fiduTida  5d(pvrjv, 
oil  wa'ya.v  \a\iovaav  dwij^ero  Kal  XdXov  vdup. 


YEARS  have  risen  and  fallen  in  darkness  or  in  twilight, 
Ages  waxed  and  waned  that  knew  not  thee  nor  thine, 
While  the  world  sought  light  by  night  and  sought  not  thy  light. 

Since  the  sad  last  pilgrim  left  thy  dark  mid  shrine. 
Dark  the  shrine  and  dumb  the  fount  of  song  thence  welling. 

Save  for  words  more  sad  than  tears  of  blood,  that  said  : 
Tell  the  king,  on  earth  has  fallen  the  glorious  dwelling, 

And  the  water  springs  that  spake  are  quenched  and  dead. 
Not  a  cell  is  left  the  God,  no  roof,  no  cover ; 

In  his  hand  the  prophet  laurel fozvcrs  no  more. 
And  the  great  king's  high  sad  heart,  thy  true  last  lover. 
Felt  thine  answer  pierce  and  cleave  it  to  the  core. 
And  he  bowed  down  his  hopeless  head 

In  the  drift  of  the  wild  world's  tide, 
And  dying.  Thou  hast  conquered,  he  said, 
Galilean;  he  said  it,  and  died. 


THE    LAST    ORACLE 

And  the  world  that  was  thine  and  was  ours 
When  the  Graces  took  hands  with  the  Hours 
Grew  cold  as  a  winter  wave 
In  the  wind  from  a  wide-mouthed  grave, 
As  a  gulf  wide  open  to  swallow 

The  light  that  the  world  held  dear. 
O  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 

Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  I 

Age  on  age  thy  mouth  was  mute,  thy  face  was  hidden, 

And  the  lips  and  eyes  that  loved  thee  blind  and  dumb  ; 
Song  forsook  their  tongues  that  held  thy  name  forbidden, 

Light  their  eyes  that  saw  the  strange  God's  kingdom  come. 
Fire  for  light  and  hell  for  heaven  and  psalms  for  paeans 

Filled  the  clearest  eyes  and  lips  most  sweet  of  song. 
When  for  chant  of  Greeks  the  wail  of  Galileans 

Made  the  whole  world  moan  with  hymns  of  wrath  and  wrong. 
Yea,  not  yet  we  see  thee,  father,  as  they  saw  thee. 

They  that  worshipped  when  the  world  was  theirs  and  thine. 
They  whose  words  had  power  by  thine  own  power  to  draw  thee 
Down  from  heaven  till  earth  seemed  more  than  heaven  divine. 
For  the  shades  are  about  us  that  hover 

When  darkness  is  half  withdrawn 
And  the  skirts  of  the  dead  night  cover 

The  face  of  the  live  new  dawn. 
For  the  past  is  not  utterly  past 
Though  the  word  on  its  lips  be  the  last, 
And  the  time  be  gone  by  with  its  creed 
When  men  were  as  beasts  that  bleed, 


THE    LAST    ORACLE 

As  sheep  or  as  swine  that  wallow, 
In  the  shambles  of  faith  and  of  fear. 
O  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 

Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  I  ' 

Yet  it  may  be,  lord  and  father,  could  we  know  it, 

We  that  love  thee  for  our  darkness  shall  have  light 
More  than  ever  prophet  hailed  of  old  or  poet 

Standing  crowned  and  robed  and  sovereign  in  thy  sight. 
To  the  likeness  of  one  God  their  dreams  enthralled  thee, 
Who  wast  greater  than  all  Gods  that  waned  and  grew ; 
Son  of  God  the  shining  son  of  Time  they  called  thee, 

Who  wast  older,  O  our  father,  than  they  knew. 
For  no  thought  of  man  made  Gods  to  love  or  honour 

Ere  the  song  within  the  silent  soul  began, 
Nor  might  earth  in  dream  or  deed  take  heaven  upon  her 
Till  the  word  was  clothed  with  speech  by  lips  of  man. 
And  the  word  and  the  life  wast  thou, 
The  spirit  of  man  and  the  breath  ; 
And  before  thee  the  Gods  that  bow 

Take  life  at  thine  hands  and  death. 
For  these  are  as  ghosts  that  wane, 
That  are  gone  in  an  age  or  twain  ; 
Harsh,  merciful,  passionate,  pure. 
They  perish,  but  thou  shalt  endure  ; 
Be  their  life  as  the  swan's  or  the  swallow, 
They  pass  as  the  flight  of  a  year. 
O  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 
Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  ! 


THE    LAST    ORACLE 

Thou  the  word,  the  light,  the  life,  the  breath,  the  glory, 

Strong  to  help  and  heal,  to  lighten  and  to  slay. 
Thine  is  all  the  song  of  man,  the  world's  whole  story ; 

Not  of  morning  and  of  evening  is  thy  day. 
Old  and  younger  Gods  are  buried  or  begotten 

From  uprising  to  downsetting  of  thy  sun, 
Risen  from  eastward,  fallen  to  westward  and  forgotten, 

And  their  springs  are  many,  but  their  end  is  one. 
Divers  births  of  godheads  find  one  death  appointed, 

As  the  soul  whence  each  was  born  makes  room  for  each  ; 
God  by  God  goes  out,  discrowned  and  disanointed, 

But  the  soul  stands  fast  that  gave  them  shape  and  speech. 
Is  the  sun  yet  cast  out  of  heaven? 
Is  the  song  yet  cast  out  of  man? 
Life  that  had  song  for  its  leaven 
To  quicken  the  blood  that  ran 
Through  the  veins  of  the  songless  years 
More  bitter  and  cold  than  tears. 
Heaven  that  had  thee  for  its  one 
Light,  life,  word,  witness,  O  sun, 
Are  they  soundless  and  sightless  and  hollow. 
Without  eye,  without  speech,  without  ear? 
O  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 
Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  ! 

Time  arose  and  smote  thee  silent  at  his  warning. 

Change  and  darkness  fell  on  men  that  fell  from  thee  ; 

Dark  thou  satcst,  veiled  with  light,  behind  the  morning. 
Till  tin-  soul  of  man  should  lift  up  eyes  and  see. 

8 


THE    LAST    ORACLE 

Till  the  blind  mute  soul  get  speech  again  and  eyesight, 

Man  may  worship  not  the  light  of  life  within  ; 
In  his  sight  the  stars  whose  fires  grow  dark  in  thy  sight 

Shine  as  sunbeams  on  the  night  of  death  and  sin. 
Time  again  is  risen  with  mightier  word  of  warning, 

Change  hath  blown  again  a  blast  of  louder  breath  ; 
Clothed  with  clouds  and  stars  and  dreams  that  melt  in  morning, 
Lo,  the  Gods  that  ruled  by  grace  of  sin  and  death  ! 

They  are  conquered,  they  break,  they  are  stricken, 

Whose  might  made  the  whole  world  pale ; 
They  are  dust  that  shall  rise  not  or  quicken 

Though  the  world  for  their  death's  sake  wail. 
As  a  hound  on  a  wild  beast's  trace. 
So  time  has  their  godhead  in  chase  ; 
As  wolves  when  the  hunt  makes  head. 
They  are  scattered,  they  fly,  they  are  fled ; 
They  are  fled  beyond  hail,  beyond  hollo. 
And  the  cry  of  the  chase,  and  the  cheer. 
O  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 
Destroyer  and  healer,  hear ! 

Day  by  day  thy  shadow  shines  in  heaven  beholden. 

Even  the  sun,  the  shining  shadow  of  thy  face  : 
King,  the  ways  of  heaven  before  thy  feet  grow  golden ; 

God,  the  soul  of  earth  is  kindled  with  thy  grace. 
In  thy  lips  the  speech  of  man  whence  Gods  were  fashioned. 

In  thy  soul  the  thought  that  makes  them  and  unmakes  ; 
By  thy  light  and  heat  incarnate  and  impassioned. 

Soul  to  soul  of  man  gives  light  for  light  and  takes. 


THE    LAST    ORACLE 

As  they  knew  thy  name  of  old  time  could  we  know  it, 
Healer  called  of  sickness,  slayer  invoked  of  wrong, 
Light  of  eyes  that  saw  thy  light,  God,  king,  priest,  poet, 
Song  should  bring  thee  back  to  heal  us  with  thy  song. 
For  thy  kingdom  is  past  not  away. 

Nor  thy  power  from  the  place  thereof  hurled ; 
Out  of  heaven  they  shall  cast  not  the  day, 

They  shall  cast  not  out  song  from  the  world. 
By  the  song  and  the  light  they  give 
We  know  thy  works  that  they  live  ; 
With  the  gift  thou  hast  given  us  of  speech 
We  praise,  we  adore,  we  beseech. 
We  arise  at  thy  bidding  and  follow, 
We  cry  to  thee,  answer,  appear, 
O  father  of  all  of  us,  Paian,  Apollo, 
Destroyer  and  healer,  hear  ! 


lO 


IN    THE    BAY 


BEYOND  the  hollow  sunset,  ere  a  star 
Take  heart  in  heaven  from  eastward,  while  the  west, 
Fulfilled  of  watery  resonance  and  rest. 
Is  as  a  port  with  clouds  for  harbour  bar 
To  fold  the  fleet  in  of  the  winds  from  far 
That  stir  no  plume  now  of  the  bland  sea's  breast; 

11 

Above  the  soft  sweep  of  the  breathless  bay 
Southwestward,  far  past  flight  of  night  and  day, 
Lower  than  the  sunken  sunset  sinks,  and  higher 
Than  dawn  can  freak  the  front  of  heaven  with  fire. 
My  thought  with  eyes  and  wings  made  wide  makes  way 
To  find  the  place  of  souls  that  I  desire. 

Ill 

If  any  place  for  any  soul  there  be. 
Disrobed  and  disentrammelled  ;  if  the  might. 
The  fire  and  force  that  filled  with  ardent  light 
The  souls  whose  shadow  is  half  the  light  we  see, 
Survive  and  be  suppressed  not  of  the  night ; 
This  hour  should  show  what  all  day  hid  from  me. 

II 


IN    THE    BAY 


IV 


Night  knows  not,  neither  is  it  shown  to  clay, 
By  sunlight  nor  by  starlight  is  it  shown. 
Nor  to  the  full  moon's  eye  nor  footfall  known, 
Their  world's  untrodden  and  unkindled  way. 
Nor  is  the  breath  nor  music  of  it  blown 
With  sounds  of  winter  or  with  winds  of  May. 


But  here,  where  light  and  darkness  reconciled 
Hold  earth  between  them  as  a  weanling  child 
Between  the  balanced  hands  of  death  and  birth. 
Even  as  they  held  the  new-born  shape  of  earth 
When  first  life  trembled  in  her  limbs  and  smiled, 
Here  hope  might  think  to  find  what  hope  were  worth. 

VI 

Past  Hades,  past  Elysium,  past  the  long 

Slow  smooth  strong  lapse  of  Lethe  —  past  the  toil 

Wherein  all  souls  are  taken  as  a  spoil, 

The  Stygian  web  of  waters  —  if  your  song 

Be  quenched  not,  O  our  brethren,  but  be  strong 

As  ere  ye  too  shook  off' our  temporal  coil ; 

VII 

If  yet  these  twain  survive  your  worldly  breath, 
Joy  trampling  sorrow,  life  devouring  death, 

12 


IN    THE    BAY 

If  perfect  life  possess  your  life  all  through 
And  like  your  words  your  souls  be  deathless  too, 
To-night,  of  all  whom  night  encompasseth, 
My  soul  would  commune  with  one  soul  of  you. 


VIII 

Above  the  sunset  might  I  see  thine  eyes 
That  were  above  the  sundawn  in  our  skies, 
Son  of  the  songs  of  morning,  —  thine  that  were 
First  lights  to  lighten  that  rekindling  air 
Wherethrough  men  saw  the  front  of  England  rise 
And  heard  thine  loudest  of  the  lyre-notes  there  — 


IX 

If  yet  thy  fire  have  not  one  spark  the  less, 
O  Titan,  born  of  her  a  Titaness, 
Across  the  sunrise  and  the  sunset's  mark 
Send  of  thy  lyre  one  sound,  thy  fire  one  spark. 
To  change  this  face  of  our  unworthiness. 
Across  this  hour  dividing  light  from  dark. 


To  change  this  face  of  our  chill  time,  that  hears 
No  song  like  thine  of  all  that  crowd  its  ears, 
Of  all  its  lights  that  lighten  all  day  long 
Sees  none  like  thy  most  fleet  and  fiery  sphere's 

13 


IN    THE    BAY 

Outlightening  Sirius — in  its  twilight  throng 
No  thunder  and  no  sunrise  hke  thy  song. 


XI 

Hath  not  the  sea-wind  swept  the  sea-line  bare 
To  pave  with  stainless  fire  through  stainless  air 
A  passage  for  thine  heavenlier  feet  to  tread 
Ungrieved  of  earthly  floor-work?  hath  it  spread 
No  covering  splendid  as  the  sun-god's  hair 
To  veil  or  to  reveal  thy  lordlier  head? 

XII 

Hath  not  the  sunset  shown  across  the  sea 

A  way  majestical  enough  for  thee? 

What  hour  save  this  should  be  thine  hour  —  and  mine, 

If  thou  have  care  of  any  less  divine 

Than  thine  own  soul ;   if  thou  take  thought  of  me, 

Marlowe,  as  all  my  soul  takes  thought  of  thine? 

XIII 

Before  the  moon's  face  as  before  the  sun 
The  morning  star  and  evening  star  are  one 
For  all  men's  lands  as  England.     O,  if  night 
Hang  hard  upon  us,  —  ere  our  day  take  flight. 
Shed  thou  some  comfort  from  thy  day  long  done 
On  us  pale  children  of  the  latter  light ! 


IN    THE    BAY 


XIV 


For  surely,  brother  and  master  and  lord  and  king, 
Where'er  thy  footfall  and  thy  face  make  spring 
In  all  souls'  eyes  that  meet  thee  wheresoe'er, 
And  have  thy  soul  for  sunshine  and  sweet  air  — 
Some  late  love  of  thine  old  live  land  should  cling. 
Some  living  love  of  England,  round  thee  there. 

XV 

Here  from  her  shore  across  her  sunniest  sea 

My  soul  makes  question  of  the  sun  for  thee. 

And  waves  and  beams  make  answer.     When  thy  feet 

Made  her  ways  flowerier  and  their  flowers  more  sweet 

With  childlike  passage  of  a  god  to  be. 

Like  spray  these  waves  cast  off  her  foemen's  fleet. 

XVI 

Like  foam  they  flung  it  from  her,  and  like  weed 
Its  wrecks  were  washed  from  scornful  shoal  to  shoal, 
From  rock  to  rock  reverberate  ;   and  the  whole 
Sea  laughed  and  lightened  with  a  deathless  deed 
That  sowed  our  enemies  in  her  field  for  seed 
And  made  her  shores  fit  harbourage  for  thy  soul. 

XVII 

Then  in  her  green  south  fields,  a  poor  man's  child. 
Thou  hadst  thy  short  sweet  fill  of  half-blown  joy, 

15 


IN    THE    BAY 

That  ripens  all  of  us  for  time  to  cloy 
With  full-blown  pain  and  passion  ;  ere  the  wild 
World  caught  thee  by  the  fiery  heart,  and  smiled 
To  make  so  swift  end  of  the  godlike  boy. 

XVIII 

For  thou,  if  ever  godlike  foot  there  trod 

These  fields  of  ours,  wert  surely  like  a  god. 

Who  knows  what  splendour  of  strange  dreams  was  shed 

With  sacred  shadow  and  glimmer  of  gold  and  red 

From  hallowed  windows,  over  stone  and  sod, 

On  thine  unbowed  bright  insubmissive  head? 


XIX 

The  shadow  stayed  not,  but  the  splendour  stays, 
Our  brother,  till  the  last  of  English  days. 
No  day  nor  night  on  English  earth  shall  be 
For  ever,  spring  nor  summer,  Junes  nor  Mays, 
But  somewhat  as  a  sound  or  gleam  of  thee 
Shall  come  on  us  like  morning  from  the  sea. 


XX 

Like  sunrise  never  wholly  risen,  nor  yet 
Quenched  ;  or  like  sunset  never  wholly  set, 
A  light  to  lighten  as  from  living  eyes 
The  cold  unlit  close  lids  of  one  that  lies 

i6 


IN    THE    BAY 

Dead,  or  a  ray  returned  from  death's  far  skies 
To  fire  us  living  lest  our  lives  forget. 

XXI 

For  in  that  heaven  what  light  of  lights  may  be, 
What  splendour  of  what  stars,  what  spheres  of  flame 
Sounding,  that  none  may  number  nor  may  name. 
We  know  not,  even  thy  brethren  ;  yea,  not  we 
Whose  eyes  desire  the  light  that  lightened  thee. 
Whose  ways  and  thine  are  one  way  and  the  same. 


XXII 

But  if  the  riddles  that  in  sleep  we  read. 

And  trust  them  not,  be  flattering  truth  indeed. 

As  he  that  rose  our  mightiest  called  them,  —  he. 

Much  higher  than  thou  as  thou  much  higher  than  we 

There,  might  we  say,  all  flower  of  all  our  seed, 

All  singing  souls  are  as  one  sounding  sea. 

XXIII 

All  those  that  here  were  of  thy  kind  and  kin, 
Beside  thee  and  below  thee,  full  of  love, 
Full-souled  for  song,  —  and  one  alone  above 
Whose  only  light  folds  all  your  glories  in  — 
With  all  birds'  notes  from  nightingale  to  dove 
Fill  the  world  whither  we  too  fain  would  win. 

17 


IN    THE    BAY 


XXIV 


The  world  that  sees  in  heaven  the  sovereign  light 

Of  siinlike  Shakespeare,  and  the  fiery  night 

Whose  stars  were  watched  of  Webster ;  and  beneath, 

The  twin-souled  bi:ethren  of  the  single  wreath, 

Grown  in  king's  gardens,  plucked  from  pastoral  heath. 

Wrought  with  all  flowers  for  all  men's  heart's  delight. 


XXV 


And  that  fixed  fervour,  iron-red  like  Mars, 

In  the  mid  moving  tide  of  tenderer  stars. 

That  burned  on  loves  and  deeds  the  darkest  done. 

Athwart  the  incestuous  prisoner's  bride-house  bars  ; 

And  thine,  most  highest  of  all  their  fires  but  one. 

Our  morning  star,  sole  risen  before  the  sun. 


XXVI 


And  one  light  risen  since  theirs  to  run  such  race 
Thou  hast  seen,  O  Phosphor,  from  thy  pride  of  place. 
Thou  hast  seen  Shelley,  him  that  was  to  thee 
As  light  to  fire  or  dawn  to  lightning  ;  me, 
Me  likewise,  O  our  brother,  shalt  thou  see, 
And  I  behold  thee,  face  to  glorious  face? 


XXVII 


You  twain  liie  same  swift  year  of  manhood  swept 
Down  the  steep  darkness,  and  our  father  wept. 

i8 


IN    THE    BAY 


And  from  the  gleam  of  Apollonian  tears 
A  holier  aureole  rounds  your  memories,  kept 
Most  fervent-fresh  of  all  the  singing  spheres, 
And  April-coloured  through  all  months  and  years. 


XXVIII 

You  twain  fate  spared  not  half  your  fiery  span  ; 

The  longer  date  fulfils  the  lesser  man. 

Ye  from  beyond  the  dark  dividing  date 

Stand  smiling,  crowned  as  gods  with  foot  on  fate. 

For  stronger  was  your  blessing  than  his  ban, 

And  earliest  whom  he  struck,  he  struck  too  late. 

XXIX 

Yet  love  and  loathing,  faith  and  unfaith  yet 
Bind  less  to  greater  souls  in  unison, 
And  one  desire  that  makes  three  spirits  as  one 
Takes  great  and  small  as  in  one  spiritual  net 
Woven  out  of  hope  toward  what  shall  yet  be  done 
Ere  hate  or  love  remember  or  forget. 

XXX 

Woven  out  of  faith  and  hope  and  love  too  great 
To  bear  the  bonds  of  life  and  death  and  fate  : 
Woven  out  of  love  and  hope  and  faith  too  dear 
To  take  the  print  of  doubt  and  change  and  fear : 

19 


IN    THE    BAY 

And  interwoven  with  lines  of  wrath  and  hate 
Blood-red  with  soils  of  many  a  sanguine  year. 

XXXI 

Who  cannot  hate,  can  love  not;   if  he  grieve, 
His  tears  are  barren  as  the  unfruitful  rain 
That  rears  no  harvest  from  the  green  sea's  plain, 
And  as  thorns  crackling  this  man's  laugh  is  vain. 
Nor  can  belief  touch,  kindle,  smite,  reprieve 
His  heart  who  has  not  heart  to  disbelieve. 

XXXII 

But  you,  most  perfect  in  your  hate  and  love. 
Our  great  twin-spirited  brethren  ;  you  that  stand 
Head  by  head  glittering,  hand  made  fast  in  hand, 
And  underfoot  the  fang-drawn  worm  that  strove 
To  wound  you  living  ;   from  so  far  above. 
Look  love,  not  scorn,  on  ours  that  was  your  land. 

XXXIII 

For  love  we  lack,  and  help  and  heat  and  light 

To  clothe  us  and  to  comfort  us  with  might. 

What  help  is  ours  to  take  or  give?  but  ye  — 

O,  more  than  sunrise  to  the  blind  cold  sea, 

That  wailed  aloud  with  all  her  waves  all  night, 

Much  more,  being  much  more  glorious,  should  you  be. 

20 


IN    THE    BAY 


XXXIV 


As  fire  to  frost,  as  ease  to  toil,  as  dew 

To  flowerless  fields,  as  sleep  to  slackening  pain, 

As  hope  to  souls  long  weaned  from  hope  again 

Returning,  or  as  blood  revived  anew 

To  dry-drawn  limbs  and  every  pulseless  vein. 

Even  so  toward  us  should  no  man  be  but  you. 

XXXV 

One  rose  before  the  sunrise  was,  and  one 

Before  the  sunset,  lovelier  than  the  sun. 

And  now  the  heaven  is  dark  and  bright  and  loud 

With  wind  and  starry  drift  and  moon  and  cloud, 

And  night's  cry  rings  in  straining  sheet  and  shroud. 

What  help  is  ours  if  hope  like  yours  be  none? 

XXXVI 

O  well-beloved,  our  brethren,  if  ye  be. 
Then  are  we  not  forsaken.     This  kind  earth 
Made  fragrant  once  for  all  time  with  your  birth, 
And  bright  for  all  men  with  your  love,  and  worth 
The  clasp  and  kiss  and  wedlock  of  the  sea, 
Were  not  your  mother  if  not  your  brethren  we. 

XXXVII 

Because  the  days  were  dark  with  gods  and  kings 
And  in  time's  hand  the  old  hours  of  time  as  rods, 

21 


IN    THE    BAY 

When  force  and  fear  set  hope  and  faith  at  odds, 
Ye  failed  not  nor  abased  your  plume-plucked  wings  ; 
And  we  that  front  not  more  disastrous  things, 
How  should  we  fail  in  face  of  kings  and  gods? 

XXXVIII 

For  now  the  deep  dense  plumes  of  night  are  thinned 
Surely  with  winnowing  of  the  glimmering  wind 
Whose  feet  are  fledged  with  morning ;  and  the  breath 
Begins  in  heaven  that  sings  the  dark  to  death. 
And  all  the  night  wherein  men  groaned  and  sinned 
Sickens  at  heart  to  hear  what  sundawn  saith. 

XXXIX 

O  first-born  sons  of  hope  and  fairest,  ye 
Whose  prows  first  clove  the  thought-unsounded  sea 
Whence  all  the  dark  dead  centuries  rose  to  bar 
The  spirit  of  man  lest  truth  should  make  him  free, 
The  sunrise  and  the  sunset,  seeing  one  star. 
Take  heart  as  we  to  know  you  that  ye  are. 

XL 

Ye  rise  not  and  ye  set  not ;  we  that  say 
Ye  rise  and  set  like  hopes  that  set  and  rise 
Look  yet  but  seaward  from  a  land-locked  bay; 
But  where  at  last  the  sea's  line  is  the  sky's 
And  truth  and  hope  one  sunlight  in  your  eyes, 
No  sunrise  and  no  sunset  marks  their  day. 

22 


A    FORSAKEN   GARDEN 


IN  a  coign  of  the  cliff  between  lowland  and  highland, 
At  the  sea-down's  edge  between  windward  and  lee, 
Walled  round  with  rocks  as  an  inland  island. 

The  ghost  of  a  garden  fronts  the  sea. 
A  girdle  of  brushwood  and  thorn  encloses 

The  steep  square  slope  of  the  blossomless  bed 
Where  the  weeds  that  grew  green  from  the  graves  of  its  roses 
Now  lie  dead. 

The  fields  fall  southward,  abrupt  and  broken, 

To  the  low  last  edge  of  the  long  lone  land. 
If  a  step  should  sound  or  a  word  be  spoken. 

Would  a  ghost  not  rise  at  the  strange  guest's  hand? 
So  long  have  the  grey  bare  walks  lain  guestless, 

Through  branches  and  briers  if  a  man  make  way. 
He  shall  find  no  life  but  the  sea-wind's,  restless 
Night  and  day. 

The  dense  hard  passage  is  blind  and  stifled 

That  crawls  by  a  track  none  turn  to  climb 
To  the  strait  waste  place  that  the  years  have  rifled 

Of  all  but  the  thorns  that  are  touched  not  of  time. 

23 


A    FORSAKEN    GARDEN 

The  tliorns  he  spares  when  the  rose  is  taken  ; 

The  rocks  are  left  when  he  wastes  the  phiin. 
The  wind  that  wanders,  the  weeds  wind-shaken, 
These  remain. 

Not  a  flower  to  be  prest  of  the  foot  that  falls  not ; 

As  the  heart  of  a  dead  man  the  seed-plots  are  dry ; 
From  the  thicket  of  thorns  whence  the  nightingale  calls  not. 

Could  she  call,  there  were  never  a  rose  to  reply. 
Over  the  meadows  that  blossom  and  wither 

Rings  but  the  note  of  a  sea-bird's  song  ; 
Only  the  sun  and  the  rain  come  hither 
All  3^ear  long. 

The  sun  burns  sere  and  the  rain  dishevels 
One  craunt  bleak  blossom  of  scentless  breath. 

Only  the  wind  here  hovers  and  revels 

In  a  round  where  life  seems  barren  as  death. 

Here  there  was  laughing  of  old,  there  was  weeping, 
Haply,  of  lovers  none  ever  will  knows 

Whose  eyes  went  seaward  a  hundred  sleeping 
Years  ago. 

Heart  handfast  in  heart  as  they  stood,  '  Look  thither,' 

Did  he  whisper?     '  Look  forth  from  the  flowers  to  the  sea 

For  the  foam-flowers  endure  when  the  rose-blossoms  wither, 
And  men  that  love  lightly  may  die — but  we?' 

And  the  same  wind  sang  and  the  same  waves  whitened, 
And  or  ever  the  garden's  last  petals  were  shed, 

24 


A    FORSAKEN    GARDEN 

In  the  lips  that  had  whispered,  the  eyes  that  had  lightened, 
Love  was  dead. 

Or  they  loved  their  life  through,  and  then  went  whither? 

And  were  one  to  the  end  —  but  what  end  who  knows? 
Love  deep  as  the  sea  as  a  rose  must  wither, 

As  the  rose-red  seaweed  that  mocks  the  rose. 
Shall  the  dead  take  thought  for  the  dead  to  love  them? 

What  love  was  ever  as  deep  as  a  grave? 
They  are  loveless  now  as  the  grass  above  them 
Or  the  wave. 

All  are  at  one  now,  roses  and  lovers. 

Not  known  of  the  cliffs  and  the  fields  and  the  sea. 
Not  a  breath  of  the  time  that  has  been  hovers 

In  the  air  now  soft  with  a  summer  to  be. 
Not  a  breath  shall  there  sweeten  the  seasons  hereafter 

Of  the  flowers  or  the  lovers  that  laugh  now  or  weep, 
When  as  they  that  are  free  now  of  weeping  and  laughter 
We  shall  sleep. 

Here  death  may  deal  not  again  for  ever; 

Here  change  may  come  not  till  all  change  end. 
From  the  graves  they  have  made  they  shall  rise  up  never. 

Who  have  left  nought  living  to  ravage  and  rend. 
Earth,  stones,  and  thorns  of  the  wild  ground  growing. 

While  the  sun  and  the  rain  live,  these  shall  be  ; 
Till  a  last  wind's  breath  upon  all  these  blowing 
Roll  the  sea. 

25 


A    FORSAKEN    GARDEN 

Till  the  slow  sea  rise  and  the  sheer  cliff  crumble, 
Till  terrace  and  meadow  the  deep  gulfs  drink, 

Till  the  strength  of  the  waves  of  the  high  tides  humble 
The  fields  that  lessen,  the  rocks  that  shrink, 

Here  now  in  his  triumph  where  all  things  falter, 

Stretched  out  on  the  spoils  that  his  own  hand  spread. 

As  a  god  self-slain  on  his  own  strange  altar, 
Death  lies  dead. 


26 


RELICS 


THIS  flower  that  smells  of  honey  and  the  sea, 
White  laurustine,  seems  in  my  hand  to  be 
A  white  star  made  of  memory  long  ago 
Lit  in  the  heaven  of  dear  times  dead  to  me. 

A  star  out  of  the  skies  love  used  to  know 
Here  held  in  hand,  a  stray  left  yet  to  show 

What  flowers  my  heart  was  full  of  in  the  days 
That  are  long  since  gone  down  dead  memory's  flow. 

Dead  memory  that  revives  on  doubtful  ways, 
Half  hearkening  what  the  buried  season  says 

Out  of  the  world  of  the  unapparent  dead 
Where  the  lost  Aprils  are,  and  the  lost  Mays. 

Flower,  once  I  knew  thy  star-white  brethren  bred 
Nigh  where  the  last  of  all  the  land  made  head 

Against  the  sea,  a  keen-faced  promontory, 
Flowers  on  salt  wind  and  sprinkled  sea-dews  fed. 

Their  hearts  were  glad  of  the  free  place's  glory ; 
The  wind  that  sang  them  all  his  stormy  story 
Had  talked  all  winter  to  the  sleepless  spray. 
And  as  the  sea's  their  hues  were  hard  and  hoary. 

27 


RELICS 

Like  thint^s  born  of  the  sea  and  the  brij^ht  day, 
Tliey  laughed  out  at  the  years  that  could  not  slay, 

Live  sons  and  joyous  of  unquiet  liours, 
And  stronger  than  all  storms  that  range  for  prey. 

And  in  the  close  indomitable  flowers 
A  keen-edged  odour  of  the  sun  and  showers 
Was  as  the  smell  of  the  fresh  honeycomb 
Made  sweet  for  mouths  of  none  but  paramours. 

Out  of  the  hard  green  wall  of  leaves  that  clomb 
They  showed  like  windfalls  of  the  snow-soft  foam, 

Or  feathers  from  the  weary  south-wind's  wing, 
Fair  as  the  spray  that  it  came  shoreward  from. 

And  thou,  as  white,  what  word  hast  thou  to  bring? 
If  my  heart  hearken,  whereof  wilt  thou  sing? 
For  some  sign  surely  thou  too  hast  to  bear, 
Some  word  far  south  was  taught  thee  of  the  spring. 

White  like  a  white  rose,  not  like  these  that  were 
Taujiht  of  the  wind's  mouth  and  the  winter  air, 

Poor  tender  thing  of  soft  Italian  bloom. 
Where  once  thou  grewest,  what  else  for  me  grew  there? 

I^orn  in  what  spring  and  on  what  city's  tomb. 

By  whose  hand  wast  thou  reached,  and  plucked  for  whom? 

There  hangs  about  thee,  could  the  soul's  sense  tell, 
An  odour  as  of  love  and  of  love's  doom. 

28 


RELICS 

Of  days  more  sweet  than  thou  wast  sweet  to  smell, 
Of  flower-soft  thoughts  that  came  to  flower  and  fell, 

Of  loves  that  lived  a  lily's  life  and  died, 
Of  dreams  now  dwelling  where  dead  roses  dwell. 

O  white  birth  of  the  golden  mountain-side 
That  for  the  sun's  love  makes  its  bosom  wide 

At  sunrise,  and  with  all  its  woods  and  flowers 
Takes  in  the  morning  to  its  heart  of  pride  ! 

Thou  hast  a  word  of  that  one  land  of  ours, 
And  of  the  fair  town  called  of  the  fair  towers, 

A  word  for  me  of  my  San  Gimignan, 
A  word  of  April's  greenest-girdled  hours. 

Of  the  breached  walls  whereon  the  wallflowers  ran 
Called  of  Saint  Fina,  breachless  now  of  man. 

Though  time  wath  soft  feet  break  them  stone  by  stone, 
Who  breaks  down  hour  by  hour  his  own  reign's  span. 

Of  the  cliff"  overcome  and  overgrown 

That  all  that  flowerage  clothed  as  flesh  clothes  bone. 

That  garment  of  acacias  made  for  May, 
Whereof  here  lies  one  wntness  overblown. 

The  fair  brave  trees  wuth  all  their  flowers  at  play. 
How  king-like  they  stood  up  into  the  day  ! 

How  sweet  the  day  was  with  them,  and  the  night ! 
Such  words  of  message  have  dead  flowers  to  say. 

29 


RELICS 

This  that  the  winter  and  the  wind  made  bright, 
And  this  that  lived  upon  Italian  light, 

Before  I  throw  them  and  these  words  away. 
Who  knows  but  I  what  memories  too  take  flight? 


30 


AT   A    MONTH'S    END 


THE  night  last  night  was  strange  and  shaken 
More  strange  the  change  of  you  and  me. 
Once  more,  for  the  old  love's  love  forsaken, 
We  went  out  once  more  toward  the  sea. 

For  the  old  love's  love-sake  dead  and  buried, 
One  last  time,  one  more  and  no  more. 

We  watched  the  waves  set  in,  the  serried 
Spears  of  the  tide  storming  the  shore. 

Hardly  we  saw  the  high  moon  hanging, 
Heard  hardly  through  the  windy  night 

Far  waters  ringing,  low  reefs  clanging. 
Under  wan  skies  and  waste  white  light. 

With  chafe  and  change  of  surges  chiming, 
The  clashing  channels  rocked  and  rang 

Large  music,  wave  to  wild  wave  timing. 
And  all  the  choral  water  sang. 

Faint  lights  fell  this  way,  that  way  floated, 
Quick  sparks  of  sea-fire  keen  like  eyes 

From  the  rolled  surf  that  flashed,  and  noted 
Shores  and  faint  cliffs  and  bays  and  skies. 

31 


AT    A    MONTH'S    END 

The  ghost  of  sea  that  shrank  up  sighing 
At  the  sand's  edge,  a  short  sad  breath 

Trembling  to  touch  the  goal,  and  dying 

With  weak  heart  heaved  up  once  in  death  — 

The  rustling  sand  and  shingle  shaken 

With  light  sweet  touches  and  small  sound  — 

These  could  not  move  us,  could  not  waken 
Hearts  to  look  forth,  eyes  to  look  round. 

Silent  we  went  an  hour  together, 

Under  grey  skies  by  waters  white. 
Our  hearts  were  full  of  windy  weather. 

Clouds  and  blown  stars  and  broken  light. 

Full  of  cold  clouds  and  moonbeams  drifted 
And  streaming  storms  and  straying  fires, 

Our  souls  in  us  were  stirred  and  shifted 
By  doubts  and  dreams  and  foiled  desires. 

Across,  aslant,  a  scudding  sea-mew 

Swam,  dipped,  and  dropped,  and  grazed  the  sea 
And  one  with  me  I  could  not  dream  you ; 

And  one  with  you  I  could  not  be. 

As  the  white  wing  the  white  wave's  fringes 
Touched  and  slid  over  and  flashed  past  — 

As  a  pale  cloud  a  pale  flame  tinges 

From  the  moon's  lowest  light  and  last  — 

32 


AT    A    MONTH'S    END 

As  a  star  feels  the  sun  and  falters, 
Touched  to  death  by  diviner  eyes  — 

As  on  the  old  gods'  untended  altars 

The  old  fire  of  withered  worship  dies  — 

(Once  only,  once  the  shrine  relighted 
Sees  the  last  fiery  shadow  shine, 

Last  shadow  of  flame  and  faith  benighted. 
Sees  falter  and  flutter  and  fail  the  shrine) 

So  once  with  flery  breath  and  flying 

Your  winged  heart  touched  mine  and  went. 

And  the  swift  spirits  kissed,  and  sighing, 
Sundered  and  smiled  and  were  content. 

That  only  touch,  that  feeling  only, 

Enough  we  found,  we  found  too  much  ; 

For  the  unlit  shrine  is  hardly  lonely 
As  one  the  old  fire  forgets  to  touch. 

Slight  as  the  sea's  sight  of  the  sea-mew, 
Slight  as  the  sun's  sight  of  the  star  : 

Enough  to  show  one  must  not  deem  you 
For  love's  sake  other  than  you  are. 

Who  snares  and  tames  with  fear  and  danger 

A  bright  beast  of  a  fiery  kin, 
Only  to  mar,  only  to  change  her 

Sleek  supple  soul  and  splendid  skin  ? 

33 


AT    A    MONTH'S    END 

Easy  with  blows  to  mar  and  maim  her, 
Easy  with  bonds  to  bind  and  bruise  ; 

What  profit,  if  she  yield  her  tamer 
The  limbs  to  mar,  the  soul  to  lose? 

Best  leave  or  take  the  perfect  creature, 
Take  all  she  is  or  leave  complete  ; 

Transmute  you  will  not  form  or  feature. 
Change  feet  for  wings  or  wings  for  feet. 

Strange  eyes,  new  limbs,  can  no  man  give  her  ; 

Sweet  is  the  sweet  thing  as  it  is. 
No  soul  she  hath,  we  see,  to  outlive  her; 

Hath  she  for  that  no  lips  to  kiss? 

So  may  one  read  his  weird,  and  reason, 
And  with  vain  drugs  assuage  no  pain. 

For  each  man  in  his  loving  season 
Fools  and  is  fooled  of  these  in  vain. 

Charms  that  alia}'  not  any  longing, 

Spells  that  appease  not  any  grief. 
Time  brings  us  all  by  handfuls,  wronging 

All  hurts  with  nothing  of  relief. 

Ah,  too  soon  shot,  the  fool's  bolt  misses  ! 

What  help?  the  world  is  full  of  loves  ; 
Night  after  night  of  running  kisses, 

Chirp  after  chirp  of  changing  doves. 

34 


AT    A    MONTH'S    END 

Should  Love  disown  or  disesteem  you 
For  loving  one  man  more  or  less? 

You  could  not  tame  your  light  white  sea-mew, 
Nor  I  my  sleek  black  pantheress. 

For  a  new  soul  let  whoso  please  pray, 
We  are  what  life  made  us,  and  shall  be. 

For  you  the  jungle  and  me  the  sea-spray, 
And  south  for  you  and  north  for  me. 

But  this  one  broken  foam-white  feather 

I  throw  you  off  the  hither  wing. 
Splashed  stiff  with  sea-scurf  and  salt  weather, 

This  song  for  sleep  to  learn  and  sing  — 

Sing  in  your  ear  when,  daytime  over, 
You,  couched  at  long  length  on  hot  sand 

With  some  sleek  sun-discoloured  lover, 
Wince  from  his  breath  as  from  a  brand : 

Till  the  acrid  hour  aches  out  and  ceases, 
And  the  sheathed  eyeball  sleepier  swims. 

The  deep  flank  smoothes  its  dimpling  creases. 
And  passion  loosens  all  the  limbs  : 

Till  dreams  of  sharp  grey  north-sea  weather 

Fall  faint  upon  your  fiery  sleep. 
As  on  strange  sands  a  strayed  bird's  feather 

The  wind  may  choose  to  lose  or  keep. 

35 


AT    A    MONTH'S    END 

But  I,  who  leave  my  queen  of  panthers, 

As  a  tired  honey-heavy  bee 
Gilt  with  sweet  dust  from  gold-grained  anthers 

Leaves  the  rose-chalice,  what  for  me? 

From  the  ardours  of  the  chaliced  centre, 
From  the  amorous  anthers'  golden  grime. 

That  scorch  and  smutch  all  wings  that  enter, 
I  fly  forth  hot  from  honey-time. 

But  as  to  a  bee's  gilt  thighs  and  winglets 
The  flower-dust  wath  the  flower-smell  clings 

As  a  snake's  mobile  rampant  ringlets 

Leave  the  sand  marked  with  print  of  rings ; 

So  to  my  soul  in  surer  fashion 

Your  savage  stamp  and  savour  hangs  ; 

The  print  and  perfume  of  old  passion, 
The  wild-beast  mark  of  panther's  fangs. 


36 


SESTINA 


I  SAW  my  soul  at  rest  upon  a  day 
As  a  bird  sleeping  in  the  nest  of  night, 
Among  soft  leaves  that  give  the  starlight  way 

To  touch  its  wings  but  not  its  eyes  with  light 
So  that  it  knew  as  one  in  visions  may, 

And  knew  not  as  men  waking,  of  delight. 


This  was  the  measure  of  my  soul's  delight ; 

It  had  no  power  of  joy  to  fly  by  day, 
Nor  part  in  the  large  lordship  of  the  light; 

But  in  a  secret  moon-beholden  way 
Had  all  its  will  of  dreams  and  pleasant  night, 

And  all  the  love  and  life  that  sleepers  may. 


But  such  life's  triumph  as  men  waking  may 
It  might  not  have  to  feed  its  faint  delight 

Between  the  stars  by  night  and  sun  by  day, 
Shut  up  with  green  leaves  and  a  little  light ; 

Because  its  way  was  as  a  lost  star's  way, 

A  world's  not  wholly  known  of  day  or  night. 

37 


SESTINA 

All  loves  and  dreams  and  sounds  and  gleams  of  night 
Made  it  all  music  that  such  minstrels  may, 

And  all  they  had  they  gave  it  of  delight ; 
But  in  the  full  face  of  the  fire  of  day 

What  place  shall  be  for  any  starry  light, 

What  part  of  heaven  in  all  the  wide  sun's  way? 

Yet  the  soul  woke  not,  sleeping  by  the  way, 
Watched  as  a  nursling  of  the  large  eyed  night, 

And  sought  no  strength  nor  knowledge  of  the  day. 
Nor  closer  touch  conclusive  of  delight, 

Nor  mightier  joy  nor  truer  than  dreamers  may, 
Nor  more  of  song  than  they,  nor  more  of  light. 

For  who  sleeps  once  and  sees  the  secret  light 
Whereby  sleep  shows  the  soul  a  fairer  way 

Between  the  rise  and  rest  of  day  and  night. 
Shall  care  no  more  to  fare  as  all  men  may. 

But  he  his  place  of  pain  or  of  delight. 

There  shall  he  dwell,  beholding  night  as  day. 


Song,  have  thy  day  and  take  thy  fill  of  light 
Before  the  night  be  fallen  across  thy  way  ; 
Sing  while  he  may,  man  hath  no  long  delight. 


38 


THE   YEAR   OF   THE    ROSE 


FROM  the  depths  of  the  green  garden-closes 
Where  the  summer  in  darkness  dozes 
Till  autumn  pluck  from  his  hand 
An  hour-glass  that  holds  not  a  sand  ; 
From  the  maze  that  a  flower-belt  encloses 

To  the  stones  and  sea-grass  on  the  strand 
How  red  was  the  reign  of  the  roses 
Over  the  rose-crowned  land  I 


The  year  of  the  rose  is  brief ; 

From  the  first  blade  blown  to  the  sheaf, 

From  the  thin  green  leaf  to  the  gold, 

It  has  time  to  be  sweet  and  grow  old, 
To  triumph  and  leave  not  a  leaf 

For  witness  in  winter's  sight 

How  lovers  once  in  the  light 
Would  mix  their  breath  with  its  breath, 

And  its  spirit  was  quenched  not  of  night, 
As  love  is  subdued  not  of  death. 


39 


THE    YEAR    OF    THE    ROSE 

In  the  red-rose  land  not  a  mile 

Of  the  meadows  from  stile  to  stile, 
Of  the  valleys  from  stream  to  stream, 
But  the  air  was  a  long  sweet  dream 

And  the  earth  was  a  sweet  wide  smile 
Red-mouthed  of  a  goddess,  returned 
From  the  sea  which  had  borne  her  and  burned. 

That  with  one  swift  smile  of  her  mouth 
Looked  full  on  the  north  as  it  yearned, 

And  the  north  was  more  than  the  south. 


For  the  north,  when  winter  was  long, 

In  his  heart  had  made  him  a  song. 
And  clothed  it  with  wings  of  desire. 
And  shod  it  with  shoon  as  of  fire. 

To  carry  the  tale  of  his  wrong 

To  the  south-west  wind  by  the  sea, 
That  who  might  bear  it  but  he 

To  the  ears  of  the  goddess  unknown 
Who  waits  till  her  time  shall  be 

To  take  the  world  for  a  throne? 

In  the  earth  beneath,  and  above 
In  the  heaven  where  her  name  is  love. 
She  warms  with  light  from  her  eyes 
The  seasons  of  life  as  they  rise, 
And  her  eyes  are  as  eyes  of  a  dove, 
But  the  wings  that  lift  her  and  bear 

40 


THE    YEAR    OF    THE    ROSE 

As  an  eagle's,  and  all  her  hair 
As  fire  by  the  wind's  breath  curled, 

And  her  passage  is  song  through  the  air. 
And  her  presence  is  spring  through  the  world. 

So  turned  she  northward  and  came. 
And  the  white-thorn  land  was  aflame 

With  the  fires  that  were  shed  from  her  feet, 

That  the  north,  by  her  love  made  sweet, 
Should  be  called  by  a  rose-red  name ; 

And  a  murmur  was  heard  as  of  doves. 

And  a  music  beginning  of  loves 
In  the  light  that  the  roses  made. 

Such  light  as  the  music  loves. 
The  music  of  man  with  maid. 

But  the  days  drop  one  upon  one. 
And  a  chill  soft  wind  is  begun 

In  the  heart  of  the  rose-red  maze 

That  weeps  for  the  roseleaf  days 
And  the  reign  of  the  rose  undone 

That  ruled  so  long  in  the  light, 

And  by  spirit,  and  not  by  sight. 
Through  the  darkness  thrilled  with  its  breath, 

Still  ruled  in  the  viewless  night. 
As  love  might  rule  over  death. 

The  time  of  lovers  is  brief; 
From  the  fair  first  joy  to  the  grief 

41 


THE    YEAR    OF    THE    ROSE 

That  tells  when  love  is  grown  old, 
From  the  warm  wild  kiss  to  the  cold, 

From  the  red  to  the  white-rose  leaf. 
They  have  but  a  season  to  seem 
As  roseleaves  lost  on  a  stream 

That  part  not  and  pass  not  apart 
As  a  spirit  from  dream  to  dream, 

As  a  sorrow  from  heart  to  heart. 


From  the  bloom  and  the  gloom  that  encloses 
The  death-bed  of  Love  where  he  dozes 

Till  a  relic  be  left  not  of  sand 

To  the  hour-glass  that  breaks  in  his  hand  ; 
From  the  change  in  the  grey  garden-closes 

To  the  last  stray  grass  of  the  strand, 
A  rain  and  ruin  of  roses 

Over  the  red-rose  land. 


42 


A  WASTED   VIGIL 


COULDST  thou  not  watch  with  me  one  hour?  Behold, 
Dawn  skims  the  sea  with  flying  feet  of  gold, 
With  sudden  feet  that  graze  the  gradual  sea ; 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 


II 


What,  not  one  hour?  for  star  by  star  the  night 
Falls,  and  her  thousands  world  by  world  take  flight; 
They  die,  and  day  survives,  and  what  of  thee? 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  wath  me  ? 


Ill 


Lo,  far  in  heaven  the  web  of  night  undone. 
And  on  the  sudden  sea  the  gradual  sun ; 
Wave  to  wave  answers,  tree  responds  to  tree 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 

43 


A    WASTED    VIGIL 


IV 


Sunbeam  by  sunbeam  creeps  from  line  to  line, 
Foam  by  foam  quickens  on  the  brightening  brine ; 
Sail  by  sail  passes,  flower  by  flower  gets  free  ; 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 


Last  year,  a  brief  while  since,  an  age  ago, 
A  whole  year  past,  with  bud  and  bloom  and  snow, 
O  moon  that  wast  in  heaven,  what  friends  were  we  ! 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 


VI 


Old  moons,  and  last  year's  flowers,  and  last  year's  snows 
Who  now  saith  to  thee,  moon?  or  who  saith,  rose? 
O  dust  and  ashes,  once  found  fair  to  see  ! 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 


VII 


O  dust  and  ashes,  once  thought  sweet  to  smell  ! 
With  me  it  is  not,  is  it  with  thee  well? 
O  sea-drift  blown  from  windward  back  to  lee  ! 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 


44 


A    WASTED    VIGIL 


VIII 


The  old  year's  dead  hands  are  full  of  their  dead  flowers, 
The  old  days  are  full  of  dead  old  loves  of  ours, 
Born  as  a  rose,  and  briefer  born  than  she ; 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 


IX 


Could  two  days  live  again  of  that  dead  year. 
One  would  say,  seeking  us  and  passing  here, 
Where  is  she  f  and  one  answering.    Where  is  he  ? 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 


Nay,  those  two  lovers  are  not  anywhere  ; 
If  we  were  they,  none  knows  us  what  we  were, 
Nor  aught  of  all  their  barren  grief  and  glee. 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me  ? 


XI 


Half  false,  half  fair,  all  feeble,  be  my  verse 
Upon  thee  not  for  blessing  nor  for  curse  ; 
For  some  must  stand,  and  some  must  fall  or  flee ; 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 

45 


A    WASTED    VIGIL 


XII 


As  a  new  moon  above  spent  stars  thou  wast ; 
But  stars  endure  after  the  moon  is  past. 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  one  hour,  though  I  watch  three? 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 


XIII 


What  of  the  night?  The  night  is  full,  the  tide 
Storms  inland,  the  most  ancient  rocks  divide  ; 
Yet  some  endure,  and  bow  nor  head  nor  knee ; 
Couldst  thou  not  watch  with  me? 


XIV 


Since  thou  art  not  as  these  are,  go  thy  ways ; 
Thou  hast  no  part  in  all  my  nights  and  days. 
Lie  still,  sleep  on,  be  glad  —  as  such  things  be; 
Thou  couldst  not  watch  with  me. 


46 


THE   COMPLAINT  OF    LISA 
(Double  Sestina) 

DECAMERON,  X.  7 


There  is  no  woman  living  that  draws  breath 
So  sad  as  I,  though  all  things  sadden  her. 
There  is  not  one  upon  life's  weariest  way 
Who  is  weary  as  I  am  weary  of  all  but  death. 
Toward  whom  I  look  as  looks  the  sunflower 
All  day  with  all  his  whole  soul  toward  the  sun  ; 
While  in  the  sun's  sight  I  make  moan  all  day, 
And  all  night  on  my  sleepless  maiden  bed 
Weep  and  call  out  on  death,  O  Love,  and  thee. 
That  thou  or  he  would  take  me  to  the  dead. 
And  know  not  what  thing  evil  I  have  done 
That  life  should  lay  such  heavy  hand  on  me. 

Alas,  Love,  what  is  this  thou  wouldst  with  me? 
What  honour  shalt  thou  have  to  quench  my  breath, 
Or  what  shall  my  heart  broken  profit  thee? 
O  Love,  O  great  god  Love,  what  have  I  done. 
That  thou  shouldst  hunger  so  after  my  death  ? 

47 


THE    COMPLAINT    OF    LISA 

My  heart  is  harmless  as  my  life's  first  day  : 
Seek  out  some  false  fair  woman,  and  plague  her 
Till  her  tears  even  as  my  tears  fill  her  bed  : 
I  am  the  least  flower  in  thy  flowery  way, 
But  till  my  time  be  come  that  I  be  dead 
Let  me  live  out  my  flower-time  in  the  sun 
Though  my  leaves  shut  before  the  sunflower. 

0  Love,  Love,  Love,  the  kingly  sunflower! 
Shall  he  the  sun  hath  looked  on  look  on  me, 
That  live  down  here  in  shade,  out  of  the  sun. 
Here  living  in  the  sorrow  and  shadow  of  death? 
Shall  he  that  feeds  his  heart  full  of  the  day 
Care  to  give  mine  eyes  light,  or  my  lips  breath? 
Because  she  loves  him  shall  my  lord  love  her 
Who  is  as  a  worm  in  my  lord's  kingly  way  ? 

1  shall  not  see  him  or  know  him  alive  or  dead  ; 
But  thou,  I  know  thee,  O  Love,  and  pray  to  thee 
That  in  brief  while  my  brief  life-days  be  done. 
And  the  worm  quickly  make  my  marriage-bed. 

For  underground  there  is  no  sleepless  bed : 

But  here  since  I  beheld  my  sunflower 

These  eyes  have  slept  not,  seeing  all  night  and  day 

His  sunlike  eyes,  and  face  fronting  the  sun. 

Wherefore  if  anywhere  be  any  death, 

I  would  fain  find  and  fold  him  fast  to  me, 

That  I  ma}^  sleep  with  the  world's  eldest  dead, 

48 


THE    COMPLAINT    OF    LISA 

With  her  that  died  seven  centuries  since,  and  her 
That  went  last  night  down  the  night-wandering  way. 
For  this  is  sleep  indeed,  when  labour  is  done. 
Without  love,  without  dreams,  and  without  breath, 
And  without  thought,  O  name  unnamed  !  of  thee. 

Ah,  but,  forgetting  all  things,  shall  I  thee? 
Wilt  thou  not  be  as  now  about  my  bed 
There  underground  as  here  before  the  sun? 
Shall  not  thy  vision  vex  me  alive  and  dead, 
Thy  moving  vision  without  form  or  breath? 
I  read  long  since  the  bitter  tale  of  her 
Who  read  the  tale  of  Launcelot  on  a  day. 
And  died,  and  had  no  quiet  after  death. 
But  was  moved  ever  along  a  weary  way, 
Lost  with  her  love  in  the  underworld  ;   ah  me, 
O  my  king,  O  my  lordly  sunflower. 
Would  God  to  me  too  such  a  thing  were  done  ! 

But  if  such  sweet  and  bitter  things  be  done, 

Then,  flying  from  life,  I  shall  not  fly  from  thee. 

For  in  that  living  world  without  a  sun 

Thy  vision  will  lay  hold  upon  me  dead. 

And  meet  and  mock  me,  and  mar  my  peace  in  death. 

Yet  if  being  wroth  God  had  such  pity  on  her, 

Who  was  a  sinner  and  foolish  in  her  day. 

That  even  in  hell  they  twain  should  breathe  one  breath, 

Why  should  he  not  in  some  wise  pity  me? 

49 


THE    COMPLAINT    OF    LISA 

So  if  I  sleep  not  in  my  soft  strait  bed 
I  may  look  up  and  see  my  sunflower 
As  he  the  sun,  in  some  divine  strange  way. 

0  poor  my  heart,  well  knowest  thou  in  what  way 
This  sore  sweet  evil  unto  us  was  done. 

For  on  a  holy  and  a  heavy  day 

1  was  arisen  out  of  my  still  small  bed 

To  see  the  knights  tilt,  and  one  said  to  me 

♦The  king,'  and  seeing  him,  somewhat  stopped  my  breath, 

And  if  the  girl  spake  more,  I  heard  not  her, 

For  only  I  saw  what  I  shall  see  when  dead, 

A  kingly  flower  of  knights,  a  sunflower. 

That  shone  against  the  sunlight  like  the  sun. 

And  like  a  fire,  O  heart,  consuming  thee. 

The  fire  of  love  that  liglits  the  pyre  of  death. 

Howbeit  I  shall  not  die  an  evil  death 
Who  have  loved  in  such  a  sad  and  sinless  wav, 
That  this  my  love,  lord,  was  no  shame  to  thee. 
So  when  mine  eyes  are  shut  against  the  sun, 
O  my  soul's  sun,  O  the  world's  sunflower, 
Thou  nor  no  man  will  quite  despise  me  dead. 
And  dying  I  pray  with  all  my  low  last  breath 
That  thy  whole  life  may  be  as  was  that  day. 
That  feast-day  that  made  trothplight  death  and  me, 
Giving  the  world  light  of  thy  great  deeds  done  ; 
And  that  fair  face  brightening  thy  bridal  bed, 
That  God  be  good  as  God  hath  been  to  her. 

50 


/ 

THE    COMPLAINT    OF    LISA 

That  all  things  goodly  and  glad  remain  with  her, 
All  things  that  make  glad  life  and  goodly  death  ; 
That  as  a  bee  sucks  from  a  sunflower 
Honey,  when  summer  draws  delighted  breath, 
Her  soul  may  drink  of  thy  soul  in  like  way, 
And  love  make  life  a  fruitful  marriage-bed 
Where  day  may  bring  forth  fruits  of  joy  to  day 
And  night  to  night  till  days  and  nights  be  dead. 
And  as  she  gives  light  of  her  love  to  thee. 
Give  thou  to  her  the  old  glory  of  days  long  done  ; 
And  either  give  some  heat  of  light  to  me. 
To  warm  me  where  I  sleep  without  the  sun. 

O  sunflower  made  drunken  with  the  sun, 

O  knight  whose  lady's  heart  draws  thine  to  her. 

Great  king,  glad  lover,  I  have  a  word  to  thee. 

There  is  a  weed  lives  out  of  the  sun's  way, 

Hid  from  the  heat  deep  in  the  meadow's  bed, 

That  swoons  and  whitens  at  the  wind's  least  breath, 

A  flower  star-shaped,  that  all  a  summer  day 

Will  gaze  her  soul  out  on  the  sunflower 

For  very  love  till  twilight  finds  her  dead. 

But  the  great  sunflower  heeds  not  her  poor  death. 

Knows  not  when  all  her  loving  life  is  done ; 

And  so  much  knows  my  lord  the  king  of  me. 

Aye,  all  day  long  he  has  no  e3'e  for  me  ; 
With  golden  eye  following  the  golden  sun 
From  rose-coloured  to  purple-pillowed  bed, 

51 


THE    COMPLAINT    OF    LISA 

From  birthplace  to  the  llame-lit  place  of  death, 

From  eastern  end  to  western  of  his  way. 

So  mine  eye  follows  thee,  my  sunflower. 

So  the  white  star-flower  turns  and  yearns  to  thee, 

The  sick  weak  weed,  not  well  alive  or  dead. 

Trod  underfoot  if  any  pass  by  her. 

Pale,  without  colour  of  summer  or  summer  breath 

In  the  shrunk  shuddering  petals,  that  have  done 

No  work  but  love,  and  die  before  the  day. 

But  thou,  to-day,  to-morrow,  and  every  day, 

Be  glad  and  great,  O  love  whose  love  slays  me. 

Thy  fervent  flower  made  fruitful  from  the  sun 

Shall  drop  its  golden  seed  in  the  world's  way, 

That  all  men  thereof  nourished  shall  praise  thee 

For  grain  and  flower  and  fruit  of  works  well  done ; 

Till  thy  shed  seed,  O  shining  sunflower, 

Bring  forth  such  growth  of  the  world's  garden-bed 

As  like  the  sun  shall  outlive  age  and  death. 

And  yet  I  would  thine  heart  had  heed  of  her 

Who  loves  thee  alive  ;  but  not  till  she  be  dead. 

Come,  Love,  then,  quickly,  and  take  her  utmost  breath. 

Song,  speak  for  me  who  am  dumb  as  are  the  dead; 

From  my  sad  bed  of  tears  I  send  forth  thee, 

To  fly  all  day  from  sun's  birth  to  sun's  death 

Down  the  sun's  way  after  the  flying  sun. 

For  love  of  her  that  gave  thee  wings  and  breath 

Ere  day  be  done,  to  seek  the  sunflower. 

52 


FOR  THE  FEAST  OF  GIORDANO 
BRU  NO, 

PHILOSOPHER    AND    MARTYR 


SON  of  the  lightning  and  the  light  that  glows 
Beyond  the  lightning's  or  the  morning's  light, 
Soul  splendid  with  all-righteous  love  of  right, 
In  whose  keen  fire  all  hopes  and  fears  and  woes 
Were  clean  consumed,  and  from  their  ashes  rose 
Transfigured,  and  intolerable  to  sight 
Save  of  purged  eyes  whose  lids  had  cast  off  night, 
In  love's  and  wisdom's  likeness  when  they  close. 
Embracing,  and  between  them  truth  stands  fast. 
Embraced  of  either ;  thou  whose  feet  were  set 
On  English  earth  while  this  was  England  yet. 
Our  friend  that  art,  our  Sidney's  friend  that  wast. 
Heart  hardier  found  and  higher  than  all  men's  past, 
Shall  we  not  praise  thee  though  thine  own  forget? 


II 

Lift  up  thy  light  on  us  and  on  thine  own, 

O  soul  whose  spirit  on  earth  was  as  a  rod 

53 


FOR    THE    FEAST    OF    GIORDANO    BRUNO 

To  scourge  off  priests,  a  sword  to  pierce  th-'irGod, 
A  staff  for  man's  free  thought  to  walk  alone, 
A  lamp  to  lead  him  far  from  shrine  and  throne 
On  ways  untrodden  where  his  fathers  trod 
Ere  earth's  heart  withered  at  a  high  priest's  nod 
And  all  men's  mouths  that  made  not  prayer  made  moan. 
From  bonds  and  torments  and  the  ravening  flame 
Surely  thy  spirit  of  sense  rose  up  to  greet 
Lucretius,  where  such  only  spirits  meet, 
And  walk  with  him  apart  till  Shelley  came 

To  make  the  heaven  of  heavens  more  heavenl}-  sweet 
And  mix  with  yours  a  third  incorporate  name. 


54 


AVE   ATQUE   VALE 


IN    MEMORY    OF    CHARLES    BAUDELAIRE 


Nous  devrions  pourtant  lui  porter  quelques  fleurs ; 
Les  morts,  les  pauvres  morts,  ont  de  grandes  douleurs, 
Et  quand  Octobre  souffle,  emondeur  des  vieux  arbres, 
Son  vent  melancolique  k  I'entour  de  leurs  marbres, 
Certe,  ils  doivent  trouver  les  vivants  bien  ingrats. 

Les  Fletirs  du  Mai. 


SHALL  I  Strew  on  thee  rose  or  rue  or  laurel, 
Brother,  on  this  that  was  the  veil  of  thee? 
Or  quiet  sea-flower  moulded  by  the  sea, 

Or  simplest  growth  of  meadow-sweet  or  sorrel, 
Such  as  the  summer-sleepy  Dryads  weave, 
Waked  up  by  snow-soft  sudden  rains  at  eve? 

Or  wilt  thou  rather,  as  on  earth  before, 

Half-faded  fiery  blossoms,  pale  with  heat 
And  full  of  bitter  summer,  but  more  sweet 

To  thee  than  gleanings  of  a  northern  shore 
Trod  by  no  tropic  feet? 

55 


AVE    ATQJJE    VALE 


For  al\va3'^s  thee  the  fervid  languid  glories 

Allured  of  heavier  suns  in  mightier  skies  ; 
Thine  ears  knew  all  the  wandering  watery  sighs 

Where  the  sea  sobs  round  Lesbian  promontories, 
The  barren  kiss  of  piteous  wave  to  wave 
That  knows  not  where  is  that  Leucadian  grave 

Which  hides  too  deep  the  supreme  head  of  song. 
Ah,  salt  and  sterile  as  her  kisses  were, 
The  wild  sea  winds  her  and  the  green  gulfs  bear 

Hither  and  thither,  and  vex  and  work  her  wrong, 
Blind  gods  that  cannot  spare. 


Ill 


Thou  sawest,  in  thine  old  singing  season,  brother, 
Secrets  and  sorrows  unbeheld  of  us  : 
Fierce  loves,  and  lovely  leaf-buds  poisonous, 

Bare  to  thy  subtler  eye,  but  for  none  other 

Blowing  by  night  in  some  unbreathed-in  clime  ; 
The  hidden  harvest  of  luxurious  time. 

Sin  without  shape,  and  pleasure  without  speech  ; 

And  where  strange  dreams  in  a  tumultuous  sleep 
Make  the  shut  eyes  of  stricken  spirits  weep ; 

And  with  each  face  thou  sawest  the  shadow  on  each. 
Seeing  as  men  sow  men  reap. 

56 


AVE    ATQJJE    VALE 


IV 


O  sleepless  heart  and  sombre  soul  unsleeping, 
That  were  athirst  for  sleep  and  no  more  life 
And  no  more  love,  for  peace  and  no  more  strife  ! 

Now  the  dim  gods  of  death  have  in  their  keeping 
Spirit  and  body  and  all  the  springs  of  song. 
Is  it  well  now  where  love  can  do  no  wrong. 

Where  stingless  pleasure  has  no  foam  or  fang 
Behind  the  unopening  closure  of  her  lips? 
Is  it  not  well  where  soul  from  body  slips 

And  flesh  from  bone  divides  without  a  pang 
As  dew  from  flower-bell  drips? 


It  is  enough  ;  the  end  and  the  beginning 

Are  one  thing  to  thee,  who  art  past  the  end. 
O  hand  unclasped  of  unbeholden  friend, 

For  thee  no  fruits  to  pluck,  no  palms  for  winning. 
No  triumph  and  no  labour  and  no  lust, 
Only  dead  yew-leaves  and  a  little  dust. 

O  quiet  eyes  wherein  the  light  saith  nought, 
Whereto  the  day  is  dumb,  nor  any  night 
With  obscure  finger  silences  your  sight. 

Nor  in  your  speech  the  sudden  soul  speaks  thought. 
Sleep,  and  have  sleep  for  light. 

57 


AVE    ATQ^UE    VALE 


VI 


Now  all  strange  hours  and  all  strange  loves  are  over, 
Dreams  and  desires  and  sombre  songs  and  sweet, 
Hast  thou  found  place  at  the  great  knees  and  feet 

Of  some  pale  Titan-woman  like  a  lover, 
Such  as  thy  vision  here  solicited, 
Under  the  shadow  of  her  fair  vast  head. 

The  deep  division  of  prodigious  breasts. 

She  solemn  slope  of  mighty  limbs  asleep, 
The  weight  of  awful  tresses  that  still  keep 

The  savour  and  shade  of  old-world  pine-forests 
Where  the  wet  hill-winds  weep? 


VII 


Hast  thou  found  any  likeness  for  thy  vision? 

O  gardener  of  strange  flowers,  what  bud,  what  bloom. 

Hast  thou  found  sown,  what  gathered  in  the  gloom? 
What  of  despair,  of  rapture,  of  derision. 

What  of  life  is  there,  what  of  ill  or  good? 

Are  the  fruits  grey  like  dust  or  bright  like  blood? 
Does  the  dim  ground  grow  any  seed  of  ours. 

The  faint  fields  quicken  an}^  terrene  root. 

In  low  lands  where  the  sun  and  moon  are  mute 
And  all  the  stars  keep  silence?     Are  there  flowers 

At  all,  or  any  fruit? 

58 


AVE    ATQJJE    VALE 


VIII 


Alas,  but  though  my  flying  song  flies  after, 

O  sweet  strange  elder  singer,  thy  more  fleet 
Singing,  and  footprints  of  thy  fleeter  feet. 

Some  dim  derision  of  mysterious  laughter 

From  the  blind  tongueless  warders  of  the  dead, 
Some  gainless  glimpse  of  Proserpine's  veiled  head. 

Some  little  sound  of  unregarded  tears 
Wept  by  effaced  unprofitable  eyes, 
And  from  pale  mouths  some  cadence  of  dead  sighs — 

These  only,  these  the  hearkening  spirit  hears. 
Sees  only  such  things  rise. 


IX 


Thou  art  far  too  far  for  wings  of  words  to  follow. 
Far  too  far  off  for  thought  or  any  prayer. 
What  ails  us  with  thee,  who  art  wind  and  air? 

What  ails  us  gazing  where  all  seen  is  hollow? 
Yet  with  some  fancy,  yet  with  some  desire, 
Dreams  pursue  death  as  winds  a  flying  fire. 

Our  dreams  pursue  our  dead  and  do  not  find. 

Still,  and  more  swift  than  they,  the  thin  flame  flies. 
The  low  light  fails  us  in  elusive  skies, 

Still  the  foiled  earnest  ear  is  deaf,  and  blind 
Are  still  the  eluded  eyes. 

59 


AVE    ATQJJE    VALE 


Not  thee,  O  never  thee,  in  all  time's  changes. 
Not  thee,  but  this  the  sound  of  thy  sad  soul. 
The  shadow  of  thy  swift  spirit,  this  shut  scroll 

I  lay  my  hand  on,  and  not  death  estranges 

My  spirit  from  communion  of  thy  song  — 
These  memories  and  these  melodies  that  throng 

Veiled  porches  of  a  Muse  funereal  — 

These  I  salute,  these  touch,  these  clasp  and  fold 
As  though  a  hand  were  in  my  hand  to  hold, 

Or  through  mine  ears  a  mourning  musical 
Of  many  mourners  rolled. 


XI 

I  among  these,  I  also,  in  such  station 

As  when  the  pyre  was  charred,  and  piled  the  sods. 
And  offering  to  the  dead  made,  and  their  gods, 

The  old  mourners  had,  standing  to  make  libation, 
I  stand,  and  to  the  gods  and  to  the  dead 
Do  reverence  without  prayer  or  praise,  and  shed 

Offering  to  these  unknown,  the  gods  of  gloom, 

And  what  of  honey  and  spice  my  seedlands  bear. 
And  what  I  may  of  fruits  in  this  chilled  air. 

And  lay,  Orestes-like,  across  the  tomb 
A  curl  of  severed  hair. 

60 


AVE    ATQ^UE    VALE 


XII 


But  by  no  hand  nor  any  treason  stricken, 

Not  like  the  low-lying  head  of  Him,  the  King, 
The  flame  that  made  of  Troy  a  ruinous  thing, 

Thou  liest,  and  on  this  dust  no  tears  could  quicken 
There  fall  no  tears  like  theirs  that  all  men  hear 
Fall  tear  by  sweet  imperishable  tear 

Down  the  opening  leaves  of  holy  poets' pages. 
Thee  not  Orestes,  not  Electra  mourns  ; 
But  bending  us-ward  with  memorial  urns 

The  most  high  Muses  that  fulfil  all  ages 
Weep,  and  our  God's  heart  yearns. 


XIII 


For,  sparing  of  his  sacred  strength,  not  often 
Among  us  darkling  here  the  lord  of  light 
Makes  manifest  his  music  and  his  might 

In  hearts  that  open  and  in  lips  that  soften 

With  the  soft  flame  and  heat  of  songs  that  shine. 
Thy  lips  indeed  he  touched  with  bitter  wine. 

And  nourished  them  indeed  with  bitter  bread  ; 

Yet  surely  from  his  hand  thy  soul's  food  came. 
The  fire  that  scarred  thy  spirit  at  his  flame 

Was  lighted,  and  thine  hungering  heart  he  fed 
Who  feeds  our  hearts  with  feime. 

6i 


AVE    ATQJ^E    VALE 


XIV 


Therefore  he  too  now  al  thy  soul's  sunsetting, 

God  of  all  suns  and  songs,  he  too  bends  down 
To  mix  his  laurel  with  thy  cypress  crown, 

And  save  thy  dust  from  blame  and  from  forgetting. 
Therefore  he  too,  seeing  all  thou  wert  and  art, 
Compassionate,  with  sad  and  sacred  heart, 

Mourns  thee  of  many  his  children  the  last  dead, 

And  hallows  with  strange  tears  and  alien  sighs 
Thine  unmelodious  mouth  and  sunless  eyes. 

And  over  thine  irrevocable  head 

Shed  light  from  the  under  skies. 


XV 


And  one  weeps  with  him  in  the  ways  Lethean, 

And  stains  with  tears  her  changing  bosom  chill ; 
That  obscure  Venus  of  the  hollow  hill, 

That  thing  transformed  which  was  the  Cytherean, 
With  lips  that  lost  their  Grecian  laugh  divine 
Long  since,  and  face  no  more  called  Erycine 

A  ghost,  a  bitter  and  luxurious  god. 

Thee  also  with  fair  flesh  and  singing  spell 
Did  she,  a  sad  and  second  pre3S  compel 

Into  the  footless  places  once  more  trod, 
And  shadows  hot  from  hell. 

62 


AVE    ATQJJE    VALE 

XVI 

And  now  no  sacred  staff  shall  break  in  blossom, 
No  choral  salutation  lure  to  light 
A  spirit  sick  with  perfume  and  sweet  night 

And  love's  tired  eyes  and  hands  and  barren  bosom. 
There  is  no  help  for  these  things;   none  to  mend, 
And  none  to  mar;  not  all  our  songs,  O  friend. 

Will  make  death  clear  or  make  life  durable. 
Howbeit  with  rose  and  ivy  and  wild  vine 
And  with  wild  notes  about  this  dust  of  thine 

At  least  I  fill  the  place  where  white  dreams  dwell 
And  wreathe  an  unseen  shrine. 


XVII 

Sleep;  and  if  life  was  bitter  to  thee,  pardon, 

If  sweet,  give  thanks ;  thou  hast  no  more  to  live  ; 
And  to  give  thanks  is  good,  and  to  forgive. 

Out  of  the  mystic  and  the  mournful  garden 

Where  all  day  through  thine  hands  in  barren  braid 
Wove  the  sick  flowers  of  secrecy  and  shade. 

Green  buds  of  sorrow  and  sin,  and  remnants  grey, 

Sweet-smelling,  pale  with  poison,  sanguine-hearted. 
Passions  that  sprang  from  sleep  and  thoughts  that  started, 

Shall  death  not  bring  us  all  as  thee  one  day 
Among  the  days  departed  ? 

63 


AVE    ATQJUE    VALE 

XVIII 

For  thee,  O  now  a  silent  soul,  my  brother, 

Take  at  my  hands  this  garland,  and  farewell. 
Thin  is  the  leaf,  and  chill  the  wintry  smell, 

And  chill  the  solemn  earth,  a  fatal  mother, 
With  sadder  than  the  Niobean  womb, 
And  in  the  hollow  of  her  breasts  a  tomb. 

Content  thee,  howsoe'er,  whose  days  are  done  ; 
There  lies  not  any  troublous  thing  before, 
Nor  sight  nor  sound  to  war  against  thee  more, 

For  whom  all  winds  are  quiet  as  the  sun, 
All  waters  as  the  shore. 


64 


MEMORIAL   VERSES 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THEOPHILE  GAUTIER 


DEATH,  what  hast  thou  to  do  with  me?  So  saith 
Love,  with  eyes  set  against  the  face  of  Death  ; 
What  have  I  done,  O  thou  strong  Death,  to  thee. 
That  mine  own  Hps  should  wither  from  thy  breath? 

Though  thou  be  bHnd  as  fire  or  as  the  sea. 

Why  should  thy  waves  and  storms  make  war  on  me? 

Is  it  for  hate  thou  hast  to  find  me  fair, 
Or  for  desire  to  kiss,  if  it  might  be, 

My  very  mouth  of  song,  and  kill  me  there? 
So  with  keen  rains  vexing  his  crownless  hair, 

With  bright  feet  bruised  from  no  delightful  way. 
Through  darkness  and  the  disenchanted  air, 

Lost  Love  went  weeping  half  a  winter's  day. 

And  the  armed  wind  that  smote  him  seemed  to  say, 

How  shall  the  dew  live  when  the  dawn  is  fled. 
Or  wherefore  should  the  Mayflower  outlast  May? 

65 


MEMORIAL    VERSES 

Then  Dealli  look  Love  by  the  right  hand  and  said, 
Smiling  :   Come  now  and  look  upon  thy  dead. 
But  Love  cast  down  the  glories  of  his  eyes, 
And  bowed  down  like  a  llower  his  flowerless  head. 

And  Death  spake,  saying  :    VY'lial  ails  thee  in  such  wise, 
Being  god,  to  shut  thy  sight  up  from  the  skies? 
If  thou  canst  see  not,  hast  thou  ears  to  hear? 
Or  is  thy  soul  too  as  a  leaf  that  dies  ? 

Even  as  he  spake  with  fleshless  lips  of  fear, 
But  soft  as  sleep  sings  in  a  tired  man's  ear, 
Behold,  the  winter  was  not,  and  its  might 
Fell,  and  fruits  broke  forth  of  the  barren  year. 

And  upon  earth  was  largess  of  great  light, 

And  moving  music  winged  for  world-wide  flight, 

And  shapes  and  sounds  of  gods  beheld  and  heard. 
And  day's  foot  set  upon  the  neck  of  night. 

And  with  such  song  the  hollow  ways  were  stirred 
As  of  a  god's  heart  hidden  in  a  bird. 

Or  as  the  whole  soul  of  the  sun  in  spring 
Should  find  full  utterance  in  one  flower-soft  word, 

And  all  the  season  should  break  forth  and  sing 
From  one  flower's  lips,  in  one  rose  triumphing ; 

Such  breath  and  light  of  song  as  of  a  flame 
Made  ears  and  spirits  of  them  that  heard  it  ring. 

66 


MEMORIAL    VERSES 

And  Love  beholding  knew  not  for  the  same 
The  shape  that  led  him,  nor  in  face  nor  name, 

For  he  was  bright  and  great  of  thews  and  fair, 
And  in  Love's  eyes  he  was  not  Death,  but  Fame. 

Not  that  grey  ghost  whose  life  is  empty  and  bare 
And  his  limbs  moulded  out  of  mortal  air, 

A  cloud  of  change  that  shifts  into  a  shower 
And  dies  and  leaves  no  light  for  time  to  wear : 

But  a  god  clothed  with  his  own  joy  and  power, 
A  god  re-risen  out  of  his  mortal  hour 

Immortal,  king  and  lord  of  time  and  space. 
With  eyes  that  look  on  them  as  from  a  tower. 

And  where  he  stood  the  pale  sepulchral  place 
Bloomed,  as  new  life  might  in  a  bloodless  face. 

And  where  men  sorrowing  came  to  seek  a  tomb 
With  funeral  flowers  and  tears  for  grief  and  grace, 

They  saw  with  light  as  of  a  world  in  bloom 
The  portal  of  the  House  of  Fame  illume 

The  ways  of  life  wherein  we  toiling  tread. 
And  watched  the  darkness  as  a  brand  consume. 

And  through  the  gates  where  rule  the  deathless  dead 
The  sound  of  a  new  singer's  soul  was  shed 

That  sang  among  his  kinsfolk,  and  a  beam 
Shot  from  the  star  on  a  new  ruler's  head. 

67 


MEMORIAL    VERSES 

A  new  star  lighting  the  Lethean  stream, 
A  new  song  mixed  into  the  song  supreme 

Made  of  all  souls  of  singers  and  their  might, 
That  makes  ot"  life  and  time  and  death  a  dream. 

Thy  star,  thy  song,  O  soul  that  in  our  sight 
Wast  as  a  sun  that  made  for  man's  delight 

Flowers  and  all  fruits  in  season,  being  so  near 
The  sun-god's  face,  our  god  that  gives  us  light. 

To  him  of  all  (jods  that  we  love  or  fear 
Thou  among  all  men  by  thy  name  wast  dear, 
Dear  to  the  god  that  gives  us  spirit  of  song 
To  bind  and  burn  all  hearts  of  men  that  hear. 

The  god  that  makes  men's  words  too  sweet  and  strong 
For  lite  or  time  or  death  to  do  them  wrong, 
Who  sealed  with  his  thy  spirit  for  a  sign 
And  filled  it  with  his  breath  thy  whole  life  long. 

Who  made  thy  moist  lips  fiery  with  new  wine 
Pressed  from  the  grapes  of  song  the  sovereign  vine, 

And  with  all  love  of  all  things  loveliest 
Gave  thy  soul  power  to  make  them  more  divine. 

That  thou  might'st  breathe  upon  the  breathless  rest 
Of  marble,  till  the  brows  and  lips  and  breast 
Felt  fall  from  off  them  as  a  cancelled  curse 
That  speechless  sleep  wherewith  they  lived  opprest. 

68 


MEMORIAL    VERSES 

Who  gave  thee  strength  and  heat  of  spirit  to  pierce 
All  clouds  of  form  and  colour  that  disperse, 
And  leave  the  spirit  of  beauty  to  remould 
In  types  of  clean  chryselephantine  verse. 

Who  gave  thee  words  more  golden  than  fine  gold 
To  carve  in  shapes  more  glorious  than  of  old, 
And  build  thy  songs  up  in  the  sight  of  time 
As  statues  set  in  godhead  manifold  : 

In  sight  and  scorn  of  temporal  change  and  clime 
That  meet  the  sun  re-risen  with  refluent  rhyme 

—  As  god  to  god  might  answer  face  to  face  — 
From  lips  whereon  the  morning  strikes  sublime. 

Dear  to  the  god,  our  god  who  gave  thee  place 
Among  the  chosen  of  days,  the  royal  race, 

The  lords  of  light,  whose  eyes  of  old  and  ears 
Saw  even  on  earth  and  heard  him  for  a  space. 

There  are  the  souls  of  those  once  mortal  years 
That  wrought  with  fire  of  joy  and  light  of  tears 

In  words  divine  as  deeds  that  grew  thereof 
Such  music  as  he  swoons  with  love  who  hears. 

There  are  the  lives  that  lighten  from  above 
Our  under  lives,  the  spheral  souls  that  move 

Through  the  ancient  heaven  of  song-illumined  air 
Whence  we  that  hear  them  singing  die  with  love. 

69 


MEMORIAL    VERSES 

There  all  the  crowned  Hellenic  heads,  and  there 
The  old  gods  who  made  men  godlike  as  they  were, 

The  lyric  lips  wherefrom  all  songs  take  fire, 
Live  eyes,  and  light  of  Apollonian  hair. 

There,  round  the  sovereign  passion  of  that  lyre 
Which  the  stars  hear  and  tremble  with  desire, 

The  ninefold  light  Pierian  is  made  one 
That  here  we  see  divided,  and  aspire, 

Seeing,  after  this  or  that  crown  to  be  won; 
But  where  they  hear  the  singing  of  the  sun, 

All  form,  all  sound,  all  colour,  and  all  thought 
Are  as  one  body  and  soul  in  unison. 

There  the  song  sung  shines  as  a  picture  wrought. 
The  painted  mouths  sing  that  on  earth  say  nought, 

The  carven  limbs  have  sense  of  blood  and  growth 
And  large-eyed  life  that  seeks  nor  lacks  not  aught. 

There  all  the  music  of  thy  living  mouth 
Lives,  and  all  loves  wrought  of  thine  hand  in  youth 
And  bound  about  the  breasts  and  brows  with  gold 
And  coloured  pale  or  dusk  from  north  or  south. 

Fair  living  things  made  to  thy  will  of  old, 
Born  of  thy  lips,  no  births  of  mortal  mould. 
That  in  the  world  of  soncj  about  tliee  wait 
Where  thought  and  truth  are  one  and  manifold. 

70 


MEMORIAL    VERSES 

Within  the  graven  lintels  of  the  gate 
That  here  divides  our  vision  and  our  fate, 

The  dreams  we  walk  in  and  the  truths  of  sleep, 
All  sense  and  spirit  have  life  inseparate. 

There  what  one  thinks,  is  his  to  grasp  and  keep  ; 
There  are  no  dreams,  but  ver}'  joys  to  reap, 

No  foiled  desires  that  die  before  delight. 
No  fears  to  see  across  our  joys  and  weep. 

There  hast  thou  all  thy  will  of  thought  and  sight. 
All  hope  for  harvest,  and  all  heaven  for  flight ; 

The  sunrise  of  whose  golden-mouthed  glad  head 
To  paler  songless  ghosts  was  heat  and  light. 

Here  where  the  sunset  of  our  year  is  red 
Men  think  of  thee  as  of  the  summer  dead, 

Gone  forth  before  the  snows,  before  thy  day, 
With  unshod  feet,  with  brows  unchapleted. 

Couldst  thou  not  wait  till  age  had  wound,  they  say, 
Round  those  wreathed  brows  his  soft  white  blossoms  ?    Nay 

Why  shouldst  thou  vex  thy  soul  with  this  harsh  air, 
Thy  bright-winged  soul,  once  free  to  take  its  way? 

Nor  for  men's  reverence  hadst  thou  need  to  wear 
The  holy  flower  of  grey  time-hallowed  hair ; 
Nor  were  it  fit  that  aught  of  thee  grew  old, 
Fair  lover  all  thy  days  of  all  things  fair. 

71 


MEMORIAL    VERSES 

And  hear  we  not  thy  words  of  molten  gold 
Singing?  or  is  their  light  and  heat  acold 

Whereat  men  warmed  their  spirits?     Nay,  for  all 
These  yet  are  with  us,  ours  to  hear  and  hold. 

The  lovely  laughter,  the  clear  tears,  the  call 
Of  love  to  love  on  ways  where  shadows  fall, 

Through  doors  of  dim  division  and  disguise, 
And  music  made  of  doubts  unmusical ; 

The  love  that  caught  strange  light  from  death's  own  eyes,' 
And  filled  death's  lips  with  fiery  words  and  sighs. 

And  half  asleep  let  feed  from  veins  of  his 
Her  close  red  warm  snake's  mouth,  Egyptian-wise: 

And  that  great  night  of  love  more  strange  than  this,* 
When  she  that  made  the  whole  world's  bale  and  bliss 

Made  king  of  the  whole  world's  desire  a  slave. 
And  killed  him  in  mid  kingdom  with  a  kiss  ; 

Veiled  loves  that  shifted  shapes  and  shafts,  and  gave, 3 
Laughing,  strange  gifts  to  hands  that  durst  not  crave, 

Flowers  double-blossomed,  fruits  of  scent  and  hue 
Sweet  as  the  bride-bed,  stranger  than  the  grave ; 


I  La  Morte  Amoureuse.  2  Une  Nuit  de  Cl^opStre. 

3  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin. 

72 


MEMORIAL    VERSES 

All  joys  and  wonders  of  old  lives  and  new 
That  ever  in  love's  shine  or  shadow  grew, 

And  all  the  grief  whereof  he  dreams  and  grieves, 
And  all  sweet  roots  fed  on  his  light  and  dew  ; 

All  these  through  thee  our  spirit  of  sense  perceives, 
As  threads  in  the  unseen  woof  thy  music  weaves. 

Birds  caught  and  snared  that  fill  our  ears  with  thee. 
Bay-blossoms  in  thy  wreath  of  brow-bound  leaves. 

Mixed  with  the  masque  of  death's  old  comedy 
Though  thou  too  pass,  have  here  our  flowers,  that  we 

For  all  the  flowers  thou  gav'st  upon  thee  shed, 
And  pass  not  crownless  to  Persephone. 

Blue  lotus-blooms  and  white  and  rosy-red 
We  wind  with  poppies  for  thy  silent  head, 
And  on  this  margin  of  the  sundering  sea 
Leave  thy  sweet  light  to  rise  upon  the  dead. 


73 


SONNET 

(with  a  copy  of  mademoiselle  de  maupin) 


THIS  is  the  golden  book  of  spirit  and  sense, 
The  holy  writ  of  beauty  ;  he  that  wrought 
Made  it  with  dreams  and  faultless  words  and  thought 

That  seeks  and  finds  and  loses  in  the  dense 

Dim  air  of  life  that  beauty's  excellence 

Wherewith  love  makes  one  hour  of  life  distraught 
And  all  hours  after  follow  and  find  not  aught. 

Here  is  that  height  of  all  love's  eminence 

Where  man  may  breathe  but  for  a  breathing-space 
And  feel  his  soul  burn  as  an  altar-fire 
To  the  unknown  God  of  unachieved  desire, 

And  from  the  middle  mystery  of  the  place 

Watch  lights  that  break,  hear  sounds  as  of  a  quire, 

Hut  see  not  twice  unveiled  the  veiled  God's  face. 


74 


AGE    AND    SONG 

(to    BARRY    CORNWALL) 


IN  vain  men  tell  us  time  can  alter 
Old  loves  or  make  old  memories  falter, 
That  with  the  old  year  the  old  year's  life  closes. 
The  old  dew  still  falls  on  the  old  sweet  flowers, 
The  old  sun  revives  the  new-fledged  hours. 
The  old  summer  rears  the  new-born  roses. 

II 

Much  more  a  Muse  that  bears  upon  her 
Raiment  and  wreath  and  flower  of  honour. 

Gathered  long  since  and  long  since  woven. 
Fades  not  or  falls  as  fall  the  vernal 
Blossoms  that  bear  no  fruit  eternal, 

By  summer  or  winter  charred  or  cloven. 

Ill 

No  time  casts  down,  no  time  upraises. 
Such  loves,  such  memories,  and  such  praises, 
As  need  no  grace  of  sun  or  shower, 

75 


AGE    AND    SONG 

No  saving  screen  from  frost  or  thunder, 
To  tend  and  house  around  and  under 
The  imperishable  and  fearless  flower. 

IV 

Old  thanks,  old  thoughts,  old  aspirations, 
Outlive  men's  lives  and  lives  of  nations. 

Dead,  but  for  one  thing  which  survives  — 
The  inalienable  and  unpriced  treasure, 
The  old  joy  of  power,  the  old  pride  of  pleasure, 

That  lives  in  light  above  men's  lives. 


76 


IN   MEMORY  OF  BARRY  CORNWALL 

(OCTOBER    4,    1874) 


IN  the  garden  of  death,  where  the  singers  whose  names 
are  deathless 
One  with  another  make  music  unheard  of  men, 
Where  the  dead  sweet  roses  fade  not  of  Hps  long  breath- 
less. 
And  the  fair  eyes  shine  that  shall  weep  not  or  change 
again. 
Who  comes  now  crowned  with  the  blossom   of  snow- 
white  years? 
What  music  is  this  that  the  world  of  the  dead  men  hears  ? 

II 

Beloved  of  men,  whose  words  on  our  lips  were  honey. 
Whose  name  in  our  ears  and  our  fathers'  ears  was 

sweet. 
Like  summer  gone  forth  of  the  land  his  songs    made 

sunny, 

77 


IN    MEMORY    OF    BARRY    CORNWALL 

To  the  beautiful  veiled  bright  world  where  the  glad 

ghosts  meet, 
Child,  father,  bridegroom  and  bride,  and  anguish  and 

rest, 
No  soul  shall  pass  of  a  singer  than  this  more  blest. 

Ill 

Blest    for  the  years'  sweet   sake  that  were  filled   and 

brightened. 
As  a  forest  with  birds,  with  the  fruit  and  the  llower  of 

his  song  ; 
For  the  souls'  sake  blest  that  heard,  and  their  cares  were 

lightened, 
For  the  hearts'  sake  blest  that  have  fostered  his  name 

so  long ; 
By  the  living  and  dead  lips  blest  that  have  loved  his 

name. 
And  clothed  with  their   praise  and  crowned  with  their 

love  for  fame. 


IV 

Ah,  fair  and  fragrant  his  fame  as  flowers  that  close  not, 

That  shrink  not  by  day  for  heat  or  for  cold  by  night. 

As  a  thought  in  the  heart  shall  increase  when  the  heart's 

self  knows  not. 

Shall  endure  in  our  ears  as  a  sound,  in  our  eyes  as  a 

light ; 

78 


IN  MEMORY  OF  BARRY  CORNWALL 

Shall  wax  with  the  years  that  wane  and  the  seasons' 

chime, 
As  a  white  rose  thornless  that  grows  in  the  garden  of 

time. 


The  same  year  calls,  and  one  goes  hence  with  another. 
And  men  sit  sad  that  were  glad  for  their  sweet  songs' 
sake  ; 
The  same  year  beckons,  and  elder  with  younger  brother 
Takes  mutely  the  cup  from  his  hand  that  we  all  shall 
take.' 
They  pass  ere  the  leaves  be  past  or  the  snows  be  come  ; 
And  the  birds  are  loud,  but  the  lips  that  outsang  them 
dumb. 

VI 

Time  takes  them  home  that  we  loved,  fair  names  and 
famous, 
To  the  soft  long  sleep,  to  the  broad  sweet  bosom  of 
death  ; 

But  the  flower  of  their  souls  he  shall  take  not  away  to 
shame  us. 
Nor  the  lips  lack  song  for  ever  that  now  lack  breath. 

For  with  us  shall  the  music  and  perfume  that  die  not 
dwell, 

Though  the  dead  to  our  dead  bid  welcome,  and  we  fare- 
well. 


J  Sydney  Dobell  died  August  22,  1874. 

79 


EPICEDE 


(jAMES    LORIMER    GRAHAM    DIED    AT    FLORENCE, 
APRIL    30,   1876) 

LIFE  may  give  for  love  to  death 
Little  ;  what  are  life's  gifts  wortli 
To  the  dead  wrapt  round  with  earth  ? 
Yet  from  lips  of  living  breath 

Sighs  or  words  we  are  fain  to  give, 
All  that  yet,  while  yet  we  live, 
Life  may  give  for  love  to  death. 

Dead  so  long  before  his  day, 

Passed  out  of  the  Italian  sun 

To  the  dark  where  all  is  done, 
Fallen  upon  the  verge  of  May, 

Here  at  life's  and  April's  end 

How  should  song  salute  my  friend 
Dead  so  long  before  his  day? 

Not  a  kindlier  life  or  sweeter 

Time,  that  lights  and  quenches  men, 
Now  may  quench  or  light  again, 

80 


EPICEDE 

Mingling  with  the  mystic  metre 
Woven  of  all  men's  lives  with  his 
Not  a  clearer  note  than  this, 

Not  a  kindlier  life  or  sweeter. 

In  this  heavenliest  part  of  earth 
He  that  living  loved  the  light, 
Light  and  song,  may  rest  aright, 

One  in  death,  if  strange  in  birth, 
With  the  deathless  dead  that  make 
Life  the  lovelier  for  their  sake 

In  this  heavenliest  part  of  earth. 

Light,  and  song,  and  sleep  at  last  — 
Struggling  hands  and  suppliant  knees 
Get  no  goodlier  gift  than  these. 

Song  that  holds  remembrance  fast. 
Light  that  lightens  death,  attend 
Round  their  graves  who  have  to  friend 

Light,  and  song,  and  sleep  at  last. 


8i 


TO    VICTOR    HUGO 


HE  had  no  children,  who  for  love  of  men, 
Being  God,  endured  of  Gods  such  things  as  thou, 

Father  ;  nor  on  his  thunder-beaten  brow 
Fell  such  a  woe  as  bows  thine  head  again. 
Twice  bowed  before,  though  godlike,  in  man's  ken, 

And  seen  too  high  for  any  stroke  to  bow 

Save  this  of  some  strange  God's  that  bends  it  now 
The  third  time  with  such  weight  as  bruised  it  then. 
Fain  would  grief  speak,  fain  utter  for  love's  sake 
Some  word  ;  but  comfort  who  might  bid  thee  take? 

What  God  in  your  own  tongue  shall  talk  with  thee, 
Showing  how  all  souls  that  look  upon  the  sun 
Shall  be  for  thee  one  spirit  and  thy  son. 

And  thy  soul's  child  the  soul  of  man  to  be? 

January  3,  1876. 


82 


INFERIAE 


SPRING,  and  the  light  and  sound  of  things  on  earth 
Requickening,  all  within  our  green  sea's  girth  ; 
A  time  of  passage  or  a  time  of  birth 

Fourscore  years  since  as  this  year,  first  and  last. 

The  sun  is  all  about  the  world  we  see, 
The  breath  and  strength  of  very  spring;  and  w^e 
Live,  love,  and  feed  on  our  own  hearts  ;  but  he 
Whose  heart  fed  mine  has  passed  into  the  past. 

Past,  all  things  born  with  sense  and  blood  and  breath  ; 
The  fiesh  hears  nought  that  now  the  spirit  saith. 
If  death  be  like  as  birth  and  birth  as  death, 

The  first  was  fair — more  fair  should  be  the  last. 

Fourscore  years  since,  and  come  but  one  month  more 
The  count  were  perfect  of  his  mortal  score 
Whose  sail  went  seaward  yesterday  from  shore 
To  cross  the  last  of  many  an  unsailed  sea. 

S3 


INFERIAE 

Light,  love  and  labour  up  to  life's  last  height, 
These  three  were  stars  unsetting  in  his  sight 
Even  as  the  sun  is  life  and  heat  and  light 
And  sets  not  nor  is  dark  when  dark  are  we. 

The  life,  the  spirit,  and  the  work  were  one 
That  here — ah,  who  shall  say,  that  here  are  done 
Not  I,  that  know  not ;   father,  not  thy  son, 
For  all  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  sea. 

March  5,  1S77. 


84 


A    BIRTH-SONG 

(for     OLIVIA    FRANCES    MADOX    ROSSETTI,    P.ORN 
SEPTEMBER    20,    1875) 


o 


|UT  of  the  dark  sweet  sleep 

Where  no  dreams  laugh  or  weep 
Borne  through  bright  gates  of  birth 
Into  the  dim  sweet  light 
Where  day  still  dreams  of  night 
While  heaven  takes  form  on  earth, 
White  rose  of  spirit  and  flesh,  red  lily  of  love, 
What  note  of  song  have  we 
Fit  for  the  birds  and  thee, 
Fair  nestling  couched  beneath  the  mother-dove? 

Nay,  in  some  more  divine 

Small  speechless  song  of  thine 
Some  news  too  good  for  words. 

Heart-hushed  and  smiling,  we 

Might  hope  to  have  of  thee. 
The  youngest  of  God's  birds. 
If  thy  sweet  sense  might  mix  itself  with  ours, 

If  ours  might  understand 

The  language  of  thy  land. 
Ere  thine  become  the  tongue  of  mortal  hours  : 

85 


A    BIRTH-SONG 

Ere  thy  lips  learn  too  soon 

Their  soft  first  human  tune, 

Sweet,  but  less  sweet  than  now, 

And  thy  raised  eyes  to  read 

Glad  and  good  things  indeed. 
But  none  so  sweet  as  thou  : 
Ere  thought  lift  up  their  flower-soft  lids  to  see 

What  life  and  love  on  earth 

Bring  thee  for  gifts  at  birth. 
But  none  so  good  as  thine  who  hast  given  us  thee  : 

Now,  ere  thy  sense  forget 

The  heaven  that  fills  it  yet, 
Now,  sleeping  or  awake, 

If  thou  couldst  tell,  or  we 

Ask  and  be  heard  of  thee. 
For  love's  undying  sake, 
From  thy  dumb  lips  divine  and  bright  mute  speech 

Such  news  might  touch  our  ear 

That  then  would  burn  to  hear 
Too  high  a  message  now  for  man's  to  reach. 

Ere  the  gold  hair  of  corn 
Had  withered  wast  thou  born, 

To  make  the  good  time  glad  ; 
The  time  that  but  last  year 
Fell  colder  than  a  tear 

On  hearts  and  hopes  turned  sad, 

86 


A    BIRTH-SONG 

High  hopes  and  hearts  requickening  in  thy  dawn, 
Even  theirs  whose  life-springs,  child, 
Filled  thine  with  life  and  smiled, 

But  then  wept  blood  for  half  their  own  withdrawn.' 

If  death  and  birth  be  one, 

And  set  with  rise  of  sun, 

And  truth  with  dreams  divine. 

Some  word  might  come  with  thee 

From  over  the  still  sea 

Deep  hid  in  shade  or  shine. 
Crossed  by  the  crossing  sails  of  death  and  birth, 

Word  of  some  sweet  new  thing 

Fit  for  such  lips  to  bring. 
Some  word  of  love,  some  afterthought  of  earth. 

If  love  be  strong  as  death. 

By  what  so  natural  breath 
As  thine  could  this  be  said? 

By  what  so  lovely  way 

Could  love  send  word  to  say 
He  lives  and  is  not  dead? 
Such  word  alone  were  fit  for  only  thee, 

If  his  and  thine  have  met 

Where  spirits  rise  and  set. 
His  whom  we  see  not,  thine  whom  scarce  we  see  : 


»   Oliver  Madox  Brown  died  November  5,  1874,  in  his  twentieth  year. 

87 


A    BIRTH-SONG 

His  there  new-born,  as  thou 

New-born  among  us  now  ; 
His,  here  so  fruitful-souled, 

Now  veiled  and  silent  here, 

Now  dumb  as  thou  last  year, 
A  ghost  of  one  year  old  : 
If  lights  that  change  their  sphere  in  changing  meet, 

Some  ray  might  his  not  give 

To  thine  who  wast  to  live, 
And  make  thy  present  with  his  past  life  sweet? 

Let  dreams  that  laugh  or  weep. 
All  glad  and  sad  dreams,  sleep  ; 

Truth  more  than  dreams  is  dear. 
Let  thoughts  that  change  and  fly. 
Sweet  thoughts  and  swift,  go  by  ; 
More  than  all  thought  is  here. 

More  than  all  hope  can  forge  or  memory  feign 
The  life  that  in  our  eyes, 
Made  out  of  love's  life,  lies, 

And  flower-like  fed  with  love  for  sun  and  rain. 

Twice  royal  in  its  root 
The  sweet  small  olive-shoot 

Here  set  in  sacred  earth  ; 
Twice  dowered  with  glorious  grace 
From  either  heaven-born  race 

First  blended  in  its  birth  ; 

88 


A    BIRTH-SONG 

Fair  God  or  Genius  of  so  fair  an  hour, 

For  love  of  either  name 

Twice  crowned,  with  love  and  fame, 
Guard  and  be  gracious  to  the  fair-named  flower. 

October  19,  1875. 


89 


EX-VOTO 


WHEN  their  last  hour  shall  rise 
Pale  on  these  mortal  eyes, 
Herself  like  one  that  dies, 

And  kiss  me  dying 
The  cold  last  kiss,  and  fold 
Close  round  my  limbs  her  cold 
Soft  vshade  as  raiment  rolled 
And  leave  them  lying. 

If  aught  my  soul  would  say 
Might  move  to  hear  me  pray 
The  birth-god  of  my  day 

That  he  might  hearken, 
This  grace  my  heart  should  crave. 
To  find  no  landward  grave 
That  worldly  springs  make  brave. 

World's  winters  darken. 

Nor  grow  through  gradual  hours 
The  cold  blind  seed  of  flowers 
Made  by  new  beams  and  showers 
From  limbs  that  moulder. 


90 


EX-VOTO 

Nor  take  my  part  with  earth, 
But  find  for  death's  new  birth 
A  bed  of  larger  girth, 
More  chaste  and  colder. 

Not  earth's  for  spring  and  fall, 
Not  earth's  at  heart,  not  all 
Earth's  making,  though  men  call 

Earth  only  mother, 
Not  hers  at  heart  she  bare 
Me,  but  thy  child,  O  fair 
Sea,  and  thy  brother's  care, 

The  wind  thy  brother. 

Yours  was  I  born,  and  ye. 
The  sea-wind  and  the  sea. 
Made  all  my  soul  in  me 

A  song  for  ever, 
A  harp  to  string  and  smite 
For  love's  sake  of  the  bright 
Wind  and  the  sea's  delight. 

To  fail  them  never  : 

Not  while  on  this  side  death 
I  hear  what  either  saith 
And  drink  of  either's  breath 
With  heart's  thanksgiving 
That  in  my  veins  like  wine 
Some  sharp  salt  blood  of  thine, 


EX-VOTO 

Some  springtide  pulse  of  brine, 
Yet  leaps  up  living. 

When  thy  salt  lips  wellnigh 
Sucked  in  my  mouth's  last  sigh, 
Grudged  I  so  much  to  die 

This  death  as  others? 
Was  it  no  ease  to  think 
The  chalice  from  whose  brink 
Fate  gave  me  death  to  drink 

Was  thine,  —  my  mother's? 

Thee  too,  the  all-fostering  earth, 

Fair  as  thy  fairest  birth. 

More  than  thy  worthiest  worth, 

We  call,  we  know  thee. 
More  sweet  and  just  and  dread 
Than  live  men  highest  of  head 
Or  even  thy  holiest  dead 

Laid  low  below  thee. 

The  sunbeam  on  the  sheaf. 
The  dewfall  on  the  leaf, 
All  joy,  all  grace,  all  grief, 

Are  thine  for  giving  ; 
Of  thee  our  loves  are  born. 
Our  lives  and  loves,  that  mourn 
And  triumph  ;  tares  with  corn. 

Dead  seed  with  living  : 

92 


EX-VOTO 

All  good  and  ill  things  done 
In  eyeshot  of  the  sun 
At  last  in  thee  made  one 

Rest  well  contented ; 
All  words  of  all  man's  breath 
And  works  he  doth  or  saith, 
All  wholly  done  to  death, 

None  long  lamented. 

A  slave  to  sons  of  thee, 
Thou,  seeming,  yet  art  free  ; 
But  who  shall  make  the  sea 

Serve  even  in  seeming? 
What  plough  shall  bid  it  bear 
Seed  to  the  sun  and  the  air, 
Fruit  for  thy  strong  sons'  fare. 

Fresh  wine's  foam  streaming? 

What  oldworld  son  of  thine. 
Made  drunk  with  death  as  wine, 
Hath  drunk  the  bright  sea's  brine 

With  lips  of  laughter? 
Thy  blood  they  drink  ;  but  he 
Who  hath  drunken  of  the  sea 
Once  deeplier  than  of  thee 

Shall  drink  not  after. 

Of  thee  thy  sons  of  men 
Drink  deep,  and  thirst  again ; 

93 


EX-VOTO 

For  wine  in  feasts,  and  then 

In  fields  for  slaughter  ; 
But  thirst  shall  touch  not  him 
Who  hath  felt  with  sense  grown  dim 
Rise,  covering  lip  and  limb, 

The  wan  sea's  water. 

All  fire  of  thirst  that  aches 
The  salt  sea  cools  and  slakes 
More  than  all  springs  or  lakes, 

Freshets  or  shallows  ; 
Wells  where  no  beam  can  burn 
Through  frondage  of  the  fern 
That  hides  from  hart  and  hern 

The  haunt  it  hallows. 

Peace  with  all  graves  on  earth 
For  death  or  sleep  or  birth 
Be  alway,  one  in  worth 

One  with  another; 
But  when  my  time  shall  be, 
O  mother,  O  my  sea, 
Alive  or  dead,  take  me, 

Me  too,  my  mother. 


94 


A    BALLAD   OF    DREAMLAND 


1HID  my  heart  in  a  nest  of  roses, 
Out  of  the  sun's  way,  hidden  apart ; 
In  a  softer  bed  than  the  soft  white  snow's  is, 
Under  the  roses  I  hid  my  heart. 
Why  would  it  sleep  not?  why  should  it  start, 
When  never  a  leaf  of  the  rose-tree  stirred  ? 

What  made  sleep  flutter  his  wings  and  part? 
Only  the  song  of  a  secret  bird. 

Lie  still,  I  said,  for  the  wind's  wing  closes, 

And  mild  leaves  muffle  the  keen  sun's  dart ; 
Lie  still,  for  the  wind  on  the  warm  sea  dozes, 

And  the  wind  is  unquieter  yet  than  thou  art. 

Does  a  thought  in  thee  still  as  a  thorn's  wound  smart? 
Does  the  fang  still  fret  thee  of  hope  deferred? 

What  bids  the  lids  of  thy  sleep  dispart? 
Only  the  song  of  a  secret  bird. 

The  green  land's  name  that  a  charm  encloses. 
It  never  was  writ  in  the  traveller's  chart, 

And  sweet  on  its  trees  as  the  fruit  that  grows  is. 
It  never  was  sold  in  the  merchant's  mart. 

95 


A    BALLAD    OF    DREAMLAND 

The  swallows  of  dreams  through  its  dim  fields  dart, 
And  sleep's  are  the  tunes  in  its  tree-tops  heard  ; 

No  hound's  note  wakens  the  wildwood  hart, 
Only  the  song  of  a  secret  bird. 

ENVOI 

In  the  world  of  dreams  I  have  chosen  my  part, 
To  sleep  for  a  season  and  hear  no  word 

Of  true  love's  truth  or  of  light  love's  art, 
Only  the  song  of  a  secret  bird. 


96 


CYRIL    TOURNEUR 


A  SEA  that  heaves  with  horror  of  the  night, 
As  maddened  by  the  moon  that  hangs  aghast 

With  strain  and  torment  of  the  ravening  blast, 
Haggard  as  hell,  a  bleak  blind  bloody  light; 
No  shore  but  one  red  reef  of  rock  in  sight, 

Whereon  the  waifs  of  many  a  wreck  were  cast 

And  shattered  in  the  fierce  nights  overpast 
Wherein  more  souls  toward  hell  than  heaven  took  flirrlit ; 
And  'twixt  the  shark-toothed  rocks  and  swallowing  shoals 
A  cry  as  out  of  hell  from  all  these  souls 

Sent  through  the  sheer  gorge  of  the  slaughtering  sea, 
Whose  thousand  throats,  full-fed  with  life  by  death, 
Fill  the  black  air  with  foam  and  furious  breath  ; 

And  over  all  these  one  star —  Chastity. 


97 


A    BALLAD    OF    FRANQOIS    VILLON 


PRINCE    OF    ALL    BALLAD-MAKERS 


BIRD  of  the  bitter  bright  grey  golden  morn 
Scarce  risen  upon  the  dusk  of  dolorous  years, 
First  of  us  all  and  sweetest  singer  born 

Whose  far  shrill  note  the  world  of  new  men  hears 

Cleave  the  cold  shuddering  shade  as  twilight  clears ; 
When  song  new-born  put  off  the  old  world's  attire 
And  felt  its  tune  on  her  changed  lips  expire, 

Writ  foremost  on  the  roll  of  them  that  came 
Fresh  girt  for  service  of  the  latter  lyre, 

Villon,  our  sad  bad  glad  mad  brother's  name! 

Alas  the  joy,  the  sorrow,  and  the  scorn. 

That  clothed  thy  life  with  hopes  and  sins  and  fears. 
And  gave  thee  stones  for  bread  and  tares  for  corn 

And  plume-plucked  gaol-birds  for  thy  starveling  peers 

Till  death  dipt  close  their  flight  with  shameful  shears  ; 
Till  shifts  came  short  and  loves  were  hard  to  hire. 
When  lilt  of  song  nor  twitch  of  twangling  wire 

Could  buy  thee  bread  or  kisses ;  when  light  fame 
Spurned  like  a  ball  and  haled  through  brake  and  briar, 

Villon,  our  sad  bad  glad  mad  brother's  name  ! 

98 


A    BALLAD    OF    FRANQOIS    VILLON 

Poor  splendid  wings  so  frayed  and  soiled  and  torn  ! 

Poor  kind  wild  eyes  so  dashed  with  light  quick  tears  ! 
Poor  perfect  voice,  most  blithe  when  most  forlorn, 

That  rings  athwart  the  sea  whence  no  man  steers 

Like  joy-bells  crossed  with  death-bells  in  our  ears  ! 
What  far  delight  has  cooled  the  fierce  desire 
That  like  some  ravenous  bird  was  strong  to  tire 

On  that  frail  flesh  and  soul  consumed  with  flame, 
But  left  more  sweet  than  roses  to  respire, 

Villon,  our  sad  bad  glad  mad  brother's  name? 

ENVOI 

Prince  of  sweet  songs  made  out  of  tears  and  fire, 
A  harlot  was  thy  nurse,  a  God  thy  sire  ; 

Shame  soiled  thy  song,  and  song  assoiled  thy  shame. 
But  from  thy  feet  now  death  has  washed  the  mire. 
Love  reads  out  first  at  head  of  all  our  quire, 

Villon,  our  sad  bad  glad  mad  brother's  name. 


99 


PASTICHE 


NOW  the  days  are  all  gone  over 
Of  our  singing,  love  by  lover, 
Days  of  summer-coloured  seas 
Blown  adrift  through  beam  and  breeze. 

Now  the  nights  are  all  past  over 
Of  our  dreaming,  dreams  that  hover 
In  a  mist  of  fair  false  things, 
Nights  afloat  on  wide  wan  wings. 

Now  the  loves  with  faith  for  mother, 
Now  the  fears  with  hope  for  brother, 
Scarce  are  with  us  as  strange  words, 
Notes  from  songs  of  last  year's  birds. 

Now  all  good  that  comes  or  goes  is 
As  the  smell  of  last  year's  roses, 
As  the  radiance  in  our  eyes 
Shot  from  summer's  ere  he  dies. 

lOO 


PASTICHE 

Now  the  morning  faintlier  risen 
Seems  no  God  come  forth  of  prison, 
But  a  bird  of  plume-plucked  wing, 
Pale  with  thoughts  of  evening. 

Now  hath  hope,  outraced  in  running, 
Given  the  torch  up  of  his  cunning 
And  the  palm  he  thought  to  wear 
Even  to  his  own  strong  child  —  despair. 


lOI 


BEFORE   SUNSET 


IN  the  lower  lands  of  da}' 
On  the  hither  side  of  night, 
There  is  nothing  that  will  stay, 
There  are  all  things  soft  to  sight ; 
Lighted  shade  and  shadowy  light 
In  the  wayside  and  the  way, 

Hours  the  sun  has  spared  to  smite. 
Flowers  the  rain  has  left  to  play. 

Shall  these  hours  run  down  and  say 

No  good  thing  of  thee  and  me? 
Time  that  made  us  and  will  slay 

Laughs  at  love  in  me  and  thee  ; 

But  if  here  the  flowers  may  see 
One  whole  hour  of  amorous  breath, 

Time  shall  die,  and  love  shall  be 
Lord  as  time  was  over  death. 


I02 


SONG 


LOVE  laid  his  sleepless  head 
On  a  thorny  rosy  bed  ; 
And  his  eyes  with  tears  were  red, 
And  pale  his  lips  as  the  dead. 

And  fear  and  sorrow  and  scorn 
Kept  watch  by  his  head  forlorn, 
Till  the  night  was  overworn 
And  the  world  was  merry  with  morn. 

And  Joy  came  up  with  the  day 
And  kissed  Love's  lips  as  he  la}^ 
And  the  watchers  ghostly  and  grey 
Sped  from  his  pillow  away. 

And  his  eyes  as  the  dawn  grew  bright, 
And  his  lips  waxed  ruddy  as  light : 
Sorrow  may  reign  for  a  night, 
But  day  shall  bring  back  delight. 


103 


A   VISION    OF    SPRING    IN    WINTER 


O  TENDER  time  that  love  thinks  long  to  see, 
Sweet  foot  of  spring  that  with  her  footfall  sows 
Late  snowlike  flowery  leavings  of  the  snows, 
Be  not  too  long  irresolute  to  be  ; 

0  mother-month,  where  have  they  hidden  thee? 
Out  of  the  pale  time  of  the  flowerless  rose 

1  reach  my  heart  out  toward  the  springtime  lands. 

I  stretch  my  spirit  forth  to  the  fair  hours. 

The  purplest  of  the  prime  ; 
I  lean  my  soul  down  over  them,  with  hands 

Made  wide  to  take  the  ghostly  growths  of  flowers ; 

I  send  my  love  back  to  the  lovely  time. 


II 


Where  has  the  greenwood  hid  thy  gracious  head? 
Veiled  with  what  visions  while  the  grey  world  grieves, 
Or  muffled  with  what  shadows  of  green  leaves, 
What  warm  intangible  green  shadows  spread 
To  sweeten  the  sweet  twilight  for  thy  bed? 

What  sleep  enchants  thee?  what  delight  deceives? 

104 


A    VISION    OF    SPRING    IN    WINTER 

Where  the  deep  clreamHke  dew  before  the  dawn 
Feels  not  the  fingers  of  the  sunlight  yet 
Its  silver  web  unweave, 
Thy  footless  ghost  on  some  unfooted  lawn 
Whose  air  the  unrisen  sunbeams  fear  to  fret 

Lives  a  ghost's  life  of  daylong  dawn  and  eve. 

Ill 

Sunrise  it  sees  not,  neither  set  of  star, 
Large  nightfall,  nor  imperial  plenilune, 
Nor  strong  sweet  shape  of  the  full-breasted  noon  ; 

But  where  the  silver-sandalled  shadows  are, 

Too  soft  for  arrows  of  the  sun  to  mar, 

Moves  with  the  mild  gait  of  an  ungrown  moon  : 

Hard  overhead  the  half-lit  crescent  swims. 

The  tender-coloured  night  draws  hardly  breath, 
The  light  is  listening ; 

They  watch  the  dawn  of  slender-shapen  limbs. 
Virginal,  born  again  of  doubtful  death. 

Chill  foster-father  of  the  weanling  spring. 

IV 

As  sweet  desire  of  day  before  the  day, 

As  dreams  of  love  before  the  true  love  born. 
From  the  outer  edge  of  winter  overworn 
The  ghost  arisen  of  May  before  the  May 
Takes  through  dim  air  her  unawakened  way. 
The  gracious  ghost  of  morning  risen  ere  morn. 

105 


A    VISION    OF    SPRING     IN    WINTER 

Willi  little  unblown  breasts  and  child-eyed  looks 
Following,  the  very  maid,  the  girl-child  spring, 
Lifts  windward  her  bright  brows, 
Dips  her  light  feet  in  warm  and  moving  brooks, 
And  kindles  with  her  own  mouth's  colouring 

The  fearful  lirstlings  of  the  plumeless  boughs. 


I  seek  thee  sleeping,  and  awhile  I  see, 

Fair  face  that  art  not,  how^  thy  maiden  breath 

Shall  put  at  last  the  deadly  days  to  death 
And  fill  the  fields  and  fire  the  woods  with  thee 
And  seaward  hollows  where  my  feet  would  be 

When  heaven  shall  hear  the  word  that  April  saith 
To  change  the  cold  heart  of  the  wear}'  time. 

To  stir  and  soften  all  the  time  to  tears. 
Tears  joyfuller  than  mirth  ; 
As  even  to  May's  clear  height  the  young  days  climb 

With  feet  not  swifter  than  those  tair  first  years 

Whose  flowers  revive  not  with  tliv  flowers  on  earth. 

VI 

I  would  not  bid  thee,  though  I  might,  give  back 
One  good  thing  youth  has  given  and  borne  away ; 
I  crave  not  any  comfort  of  the  day 
That  is  not,  nor  on  time's  retrodden  track 
Would  turn  to  meet  the  white-robed  hours  or  black 
That  long  since  left  me  on  their  mortal  way  ; 

1 06 


A    VISION    OF    SPRING    IN    WINTER 

Nor  light  nor  love  that  has  been,  nor  the  breath 
That  comes  with  morning  from  the  sun  to  be 
And  sets  light  hope  on  fire ; 
No  fruit,  no  flower  thought  once  too  fair  for  death, 
No  flower  nor  hour  once  fallen  from  life's  green  tree, 
No  leaf  once  plucked  or  once  fulfilled  desire. 

VII 

The  morning  song  beneath  the  stars  that  fled 

With  twilight  througli  the  moonless  mountain  air, 
While  youth  with  burning  lips  and  wreathless  hair 

Sang  toward  the  sun  that  was  to  crown  his  head, 

Rising ;  the  hopes  that  triumphed  and  fell  dead, 
The  sweet  swift  eyes  and  songs  of  hours  that  were ; 

These  may'st  thou  not  give  back  for  ever ;   these, 
As  at  the  sea's  heart  all  her  wrecks  lie  waste, 
Lie  deeper  than  the  sea ; 

But  flowers  thou  may'st,  and  winds,  and  hours  of  ease. 
And  all  its  April  to  the  world  thou  ma3^'st 

Give  back,  and  half  my  April  back  to  me. 


107 


L 


CHORIAMBICS 


0\"E,  what   ailed  thee  to  leave  life  that  was  made 
lovely,  we  thought,  with  love? 
What  sweet  visions  of  sleep  lured  thee  away,  down  from 
the  light  above? 

What  strange  faces  of  dreams,  voices  that  called,  hands 
that  were  raised  to  wave, 

Lured  or  led  thee,  alas,  out  of  the  sun,  down  to  the  sun- 
less grave? 

Ah,  thy  luminous  eyes  !   once  was  their  light  fed  with 

the  fire  of  day  ; 
Now  their  shadowy  lids  cover  them  close,  hush  them 

and  hide  away. 

Ah,  thy  snow-coloured  hands  !  once  were  they  chains, 

mighty  to  bind  me  fast ; 
Now  no  blood  in  them  burns,  mindless  of  love,  senseless 

of  passion  past. 

Ah,  thy  beautiful  hair!  so  was  it  once  braided  for  me, 

for  me  ; 
Now  for  death  is  it  crowned,  only  for  death,  lover  and 

lord  of  thee. 

io8 


CHORIAMBICS 

Sweet,  the  kisses  of  death  set  on  thy  lips,  colder  are 

they  than  mine  ; 
Colder  surely  than  past  kisses  that  love  poured  for  thy 

lips  as  wine. 

Lov'st  thou  death?  is  his  face  fairer  than  love's,  brighter 

to  look  upon? 
Seest  thou  light  in  his  eyes,  light  by  which  love's  pales 

and  is  overshone? 

Lo,  the  roses  of  death,  grey  as  the  dust,  chiller  of  leaf 

than  snow  ! 
Why  let  fall  from  thy  hand  love's  that  were  thine,  roses 

that  loved  thee  so? 

Large  red  lilies  of  love,    sceptral   and  tall,    lovely  for 

eyes  to  see  ; 
Thornless  blossom  of  love,  full  of  the  sun,  fruits  that 

were  reared  for  thee. 

Now  death's  poppies  alone  circle  thy  hair,  girdle  thy 

breasts  as  white  ; 
Bloodless  blossoms  of  death,  leaves  that  have  sprung 

never  against  the  light. 

Nay    then,    sleep    if  thou   wilt;    love  is   content;   what 

should  he  do  to  weep? 
Sweet  was  love  to  thee  once  ;   now  in  thine  eyes  sweeter 

than  love  is  sleep. 

109 


AT    PARTING 


FOR  a  day  and  a  night  Love  sang  to  us,  played  with  us, 
Folded  us  round  tVom  the  dark  and  the  light ; 
And  our  hearts  were  fulfilled  of  the  music  he  made  with  us. 
Made  with  our  hearts  and  our  lips  while  he  stayed  with  us, 
Sta3'ed  in  mid  passage  his  pinions  from  flight 
For  a  day  and  a  night. 

From  his  foes  that  kept  watch  with  his  wings  had  he  hidden  us, 
Covered  us  close  from  the  eyes  that  would  smite, 

From  the  feet  that  had  tracked  and  the  tongues  that  had  chidden  us 

Sheltering  in  shade  of  the  myrtles  forbidden  us 
Spirit  and  flesh  growing  one  with  delight 
For  a  day  and  a  night. 

But  his  wings  will  not  rest  and  his  feet  will  not  stay  for  us  : 

Morning  is  here  in  the  joy  of  its  might; 
With  his  breath  has  he  sweetened  a  night  and  a  day  for  us  ; 
Now  let  him  pass,  and  the  myrtles  make  way  for  us ; 

Love  can  but  last  in  us  here  at  his  height 
For  a  day  and  a  night. 


no 


A   SONG   IN    SEASON 


T' 


'HOU  whose  beauty 
Knows  no  duty 
Due  to  love  that  moves  thee  never ; 
Thou  whose  mercies 
Are  men's  curses, 
And  thy  smile  a  scourge  for  ever ; 

II 

Thou  that  givest 

Death  and  livest 
On  the  death  of  thy  sweet  giving  ; 

Thou  that  sparest 

Not  nor  carest 
Though  thy  scorn  leave  no  love  living ; 

III 

Thou  whose  rootless 
Flower  is  fruitless 
As  the  pride  its  heart  encloses, 

III 


A    SONG    IN    SEASON 

But  thine  eyes  are 
As  May  skies  are, 
And  thy  words  like  spoken  roses ; 

IV 

Thou  whose  grace  is 

In  men's  faces 
Fierce  and  wayward  as  thy  will  is  ; 

Thou  whose  peerless 

Eyes  are  tearless, 
And  thy  thoughts  as  cold  sweet  lilies  ; 


Thou  that  takest 

Hearts  and  makest 
Wrecks  of  loves  to  strew  behind  thee, 

Whom  the  swallow 

Sure  should  follows 
Finding  summer  where  we  find  thee  ; 

VI 

Thou  that  wakest 

Hearts  and  breakest. 
And  thy  broken  hearts  forgive  thee, 

That  wilt  make  no 

Pause  and  take  no 
Gift  that  love  for  love  might  give  thee ; 

112 


A    SONG    IN    SEASON 

VII 

Thou  that  bindest 

Eyes  and  blindest, 
Serving  worst  who  served  thee  longest ; 

Thou  that  speakest, 

And  the  weakest 
Heart  is  his  that  was  the  strongest ; 

VIII 

Take  in  season 

Thought  with  reason ; 
Think  what  gifts  are  ours  for  giving  ; 

Hear  what  beauty 

Owes  of  duty 
To  the  love  that  keeps  it  living. 

IX 

Dust  that  covers 

Long  dead  lovers 
Song  blows  off  with  breath  that  brightens  ; 

At  its- flashes 

Their  white  ashes 
Burst  in  bloom  that  lives  and  lightens. 

X 

Had  they  bent  not 
Head  or  lent  not 
Ear  to  love  and  amorous  duties, 

113 


A    SONG    IN    SEASON 

Song  had  never 
Saved  for  ever, 
Love,  the  least  of  all  their  beauties. 

XI 

All  the  golden 

Names  of  olden 
Women  yet  by  men's  love  cherished. 

All  our  dearest 

Thoughts  hold  nearest, 
Had  they  loved  not,  all  had  perished. 

XII 

If  no  fruit  is 

Of  thy  beauties. 
Tell  me  yet,  since  none  may  win  them, 

What  and  wherefore 

Love  should  care  for 
Of  all  good  things  hidden  in  them  ? 

XIII 

Pain  for  profit 

Comes  but  of  it. 
If  the  lips  that  lure  their  lover's 

Hold  no  treasure 

Past  the  measure 
Of  the  lightest  hour  that  hovers. 

114 


A    SONG    IN    SEASON 

XIV 

If  they  give  not 

Or  forgive  not 
Gifts  or  thefts  for  grace  or  guerdon, 

Love  that  misses 

Fruit  of  kisses 
Long  will  bear  no  thankless  burden. 

XV 

If  they  care  not 

Though  love  were  not, 
If  no  breath  of  his  burn  through  them, 

Joy  must  borrow 

Song  from  sorrow, 
Fear  teach  hope  the  way  to  woo  them. 

XVI 

Grief  has  measures 

Soft  as  pleasure's, 
Fear  has  moods  that  hope  lies  deep  in, 

Songs  to  sing  him. 

Dreams  to  bring  him, 
And  a  red-rose  bed  to  sleep  in. 

XVII 

Hope  with  fearless 

Looks  and  tearless 

Lies  and  laughs  too  near  the  thunder ; 

115 


A    SONG    IN    SEASON 

Fear  hath  sweeter 
Speech  and  meeter 
For  lieart's  love  to  hide  him  under. 

XVIII 

Joy  by  daytime 

Fills  his  playtime 
Full  of  songs  loud  mirth  takes  pride  in  ; 

Night  and  morrow 

Weave  round  sorrow 
Thoughts  as  soft  as  sleep  to  hide  in. 

XIX 

Graceless  faces, 

Loveless  graces, 
Are  but  motes  in  light  that  quicken, 

Sands  that  run  down 

Ere  the  sundown, 
Rose-leaves  dead  ere  autumn  sicken. 

XX 

Fair  and  fruitless 

Charms  are  bootless 
Spells  to  ward  off  age's  peril ; 

Lips  that  give  not 

Love  shall  live  not. 
Eyes  that  meet  not  eyes  are  sterile. 

ii6 


A    SONG    IN    SEASON 

XXI 

But  the  beauty 

Bound  in  duty 
Fast  to  love  that  falls  off  never 

Love  shall  cherish 

Lest  it  perish, 
And  its  root  bears  fruit  for  ever. 


117 


TWO    LEADERS 


/Sare  Sifwv,  fjLeydXoi  (piXorlnoi 

NuKT^j  iratSts  &iraidfs,  inr^  ev<ppovi.  irofnr§.. 


O  GREAT  and  wise,  clear-souled  and  high  of  heart, 
One  the  last  flower  of  Catholic  love,  that  grows 
Amid  bare  thorns  their  only  thornless  rose, 
From  the  fierce  juggling  of  the  priests'  loud  mart 
Yet  alien,  yet  unspotted  and  apart 

From  the  blind  hard  foul  rout  whose  shameless  shows 
Mock  the  sweet  heaven  whose  secret  no  man  knows 
With  prayers  and  curses  and  the  soothsayer's  art ; 
One  like  a  storm-god  of  the  northern  foam 

Strong,  wrought  of  rock  that  breasts  and  breaks  the  sea 

And  thunders  back  its  thunder,  rhyme  for  rhyme 

Answering,  as  though  to  outroar  the  tides  of  time 

And  bid  the  world's  wave  back  —  what  song  should  be 

Theirs  that  with  praise  would  bring  and  sing  you  home? 

ii8 


TWO    LEADERS 


II 


With  all  our  hearts  we  praise  you  whom  ye  hate, 
High  souls  that  hate  us  ;   for  our  hopes  are  higher, 
And  higher  than  yours  the  goal  of  our  desire, 

Though  high  your  ends  be  as  your  hearts  are  great. 

Your  world  of  Gods  and  kings,  of  shrine  and  state. 
Was  of  the  night  when  hope  and  fear  stood  nigher. 
Wherein  men  walked  by  light  of  stars  and  fire 

Till  man  by  day  stood  equal  with  his  fate. 

Honour  not  hate  we  give  you,  love  not  fear. 
Last  prophets  of  past  kind,  who  fill  the  dome 

Of  great  dead  Gods  with  wrath  and  wail,  nor  hear 

Time's  word  and  man's  :   '  Go  honoured  hence,  go  home, 

Night's  childless  children  ;  here  your  hour  is  done  ; 

Pass  with  the  stars,  and  leave  us  with  the  sun.' 


119 


VICTOR   HUGO    IN    1877 


'  Dazzle  mine  eyes,  or  do  I  see  three  suns  ? ' 


ABOVE  the  spring-tide  sundawn  of  the  year, 
A  sunHke  star,  not  born  of  day  or  night. 
Filled  the  fair  heaven  of  spring  with  heavenlier  light, 

Made  of  all  ages  orbed  in  one  sole  sphere 

Whose  light  was  as  a  Titan's  smile  or  tear ; 

Then  rose  a  ray  more  flow^erlike,  starry  white. 
Like  a  child's  eye  grown  lovelier  with  delight, 

Sweet  as  a  child's  heart-lightening  laugh  to  hear ; 

And  last  a  fire  from  heaven,  a  fiery  rain 

As  of  God's  wrath  on  the  unclean  cities,  fell 
And  lit  the  shuddering  shades  of  half-seen  hell 

That  shrank  before  it  and  were  cloven  in  twain  ; 
A  beacon  fired  by  lightning,  whence  all  time 
Sees  red  the  bare  black  ruins  of  a  crime. 


120 


CHILD'S   SONG 


WHAT  is  gold  worth,  say, 
Worth  for  work  or  play, 
Worth  to  keep  or  pay, 
Hide  or  throw  away, 

Hope  about  or  fear? 
What  is  love  worth,  pray? 
Worth  a  tear? 

Golden  on  the  mould 
Lie  the  dead  leaves  rolled 
Of  the  wet  woods  old, 
Yellow  leaves  and  cold, 

Woods  without  a  dove  ; 
Gold  is  worth  but  gold  ; 

Love's  worth  love. 


121 


TRIADS 


T 


HE  word  of  the  sun  to  the  sky, 
The  word  of  the  wind  to  the  sea, 
The  word  of  the  moon  to  the  night, 

What  may  it  be? 


II 


The  sense  to  the  flower  of  the  fly, 
The  sense  of  the  bird  to  the  tree, 
The  sense  to  the  cloud  of  the  light, 

Who  can  tell  me? 


Ill 


The  song  of  the  fields  to  the  kye, 
The  song  of  the  lime  to  the  bee, 

The  song  of  the  depth  to  the  height, 

Who  knows  all  three? 


122 


TRIADS 


II 


The  message  of  April  to  May 
That  May  sends  on  into  June 
And  June  gives  out  to  July 

For  birthday  boon  ; 


II 


The  delight  of  the  dawn  in  the  day, 
The  delight  of  the  day  in  the  noon, 
The  delight  of  a  song  in  a  sigh 

That  breaks  the  tune  ; 


III 


The  secret  of  passing  away, 

The  cost  of  the  change  of  the  moon, 
None  knows  it  with  ear  or  with  eye, 

But  all  will  soon. 


123 


TRIADS 


III 


The  live  wave's  love  for  the  shore, 
The  shore's  for  the  wave  as  it  dies, 
The  love  of  the  thunder-fire 

That  sears  the  skies, 

II 

We  shall  know  not  thou<^h  life  wax  hoar. 
Till  all  life,  spent  into  sighs, 

Burn  out  as  consumed  with  desire 

Of  death's  strange  eyes  ; 


III 


Till  the  secret  be  secret  no  more 
In  the  light  of  one  hour  as  it  flies, 
Be  the  hour  as  of  suns  that  expire 

Or  suns  that  rise. 


124 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 


WINTER    IN    NORTHUMBERIvAND 


o 


.UTSIDE  the  garden 
The  wet  skies  harden  ; 
The  gates  are  barred  on 
The  summer  side  : 
'  Shut  out  the  flower-time, 
Sunbeam  and  shower-time  ; 
Make  way  for  our  time,' 
Wild  winds  have  cried. 
Green  once  and  cheery, 
The  woods,  worn  weary, 
Sigh  as  the  dreary 

Weak  sun  goes  home  : 
A  great  wind  grapples 
The  wave,  and  dapples 
The  dead  green  floor  of  the  sea  with  foam. 

12^ 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 


II 


Through  fell  and  moorland, 
And  salt-sea  foreland, 
Our  noisy  norland 

Resounds  and  rings  ; 
Waste  waves  thereunder 
Are  blown  in  sunder, 
And  winds  make  thunder 

With  cloudwide  wings ; 
Sea-drift  makes  dimmer 
The  beacon's  glimmer; 
Nor  sail  nor  swimmer 

Can  try  the  tides  ; 
And  snowdrifts  thicken 
Where,  when  leaves  quicken, 
Under  the  heather  the  sundew  hides. 


Ill 

Green  land  and  red  land, 
Moorside  and  headland, 
Are  white  as  dead  land, 

Are  all  as  one  ; 
Nor  honied  heather 
Nor  bells  to  gather. 
Fair  with  fair  weather 

And  faithful  sun  : 

126 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

Fierce  frost  has  eaten 
All  flowers  that  sweeten 
The  fells  rain-beaten  ; 

And  winds  their  foes 
Have  made  the  snow's  bed 
Down  in  the  rose-bed ; 
Deep  in  the  snow's  bed  bury  the  rose. 

IV 

Bury  her  deeper 

Than  any  sleeper ; 

Sweet  dreams  will  keep  her 

All  day,  all  night ; 
Though  sleep  benumb  her 
And  time  o'ercome  her, 
She  dreams  of  summer, 

And  takes  delight. 
Dreaming  and  sleeping 
In  love's  good  keeping, 
While  rain  is  weeping 

And  no  leaves  cling  ; 
Winds  will  come  bringing  her 
Comfort,  and  singing  her 
Stories  and  songs  and  good  news  of  the  spring. 


Draw  the  white  curtain 
Close,  and  be  certain 

127 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

She  takes  no  hurt  in 

Her  soft  low  bed  ; 
She  feels  no  colder, 
And  grows  not  older, 
Though  snows  enfold  her 

From  foot  to  head  ; 
She  turns  not  chilly- 
Like  weed  and  lily 
In  marsh  or  hilly 

High  watershed, 
Or  green  soft  island 
In  lakes  of  highland  ; 
She  sleeps  awhile,  and  she  is  not  dead. 


VI 

For  all  the  hours, 

Come  sun,  come  showers, 

Are  friends  of  flowers. 

And  fairies  all ; 
When  frost  entrapped  her. 
They  came  and  lapped  her 
In  leaves,  and  wrapped  her 

With  shroud  and  pall  ; 
In  red  leaves  wound  her, 
With  dead  leaves  bound  her 
Dead  brows,  and  round  her 

A  death-knell  rang ; 

128 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

Rang  the  death-bell  for  her, 
Sang,  '  is  it  well  for  her, 
Well,  is  it  well  with  you,  rose?'  they  sang. 


VII 


O  what  and  where  is 
The  rose  now,  fairies. 
So  shrill  the  air  is, 

So  wild  the  sky? 
Poor  last  of  roses. 
Her  worst  of  woes  is 
The  noise  she  knows  is 

The  winter's  cry  ; 
His  huntincr  hollo 
Has  scared  the  swallow ; 
Fain  would  she  follow 

And  fain  would  fly  : 

But  wind  unsettles 
Her  poor  last  petals  ; 
Had  she  but  wings,  and  she  would  not  die. 


VIII 

Come,  as  you  love  her. 
Come  close  and  cover 
Her  white  face  over. 
And  forth  again 

129 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

Ere  sunset  glances 
On  foam  that  dances, 
Through  lowering  lances 

Of  bright  white  rain  ; 
And  make  your  playtime 
Of  winter's  daytime, 
As  if  the  Maytime 

Were  here  to  sing  ; 
As  if  the  snowballs 
Were  soft  like  blowballs, 
Blown  in  a  mist  from  the  stalk  in  the  spring. 


IX 


Each  reed  that  grows  in 
Our  stream  is  frozen, 
The  fields  it  flows  in 

Are  hard  and  black  ; 
The  water-fairy 
Waits  wise  and  wary 
Till  time  shall  vary 

And  thaws  come  back. 
'  O  sister,  water,' 
The  wind  besought  her, 
'  O  twin-born  daughter 

Of  spring  with  me. 
Stay  with  me,  play  with  me. 
Take  the  warm  way  with  me, 
Straight  for  the  summer  and  oversea.' 

130 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 


But  winds  will  vary, 
And  wise  and  wary 
The  patient  fairy 

Of  water  waits ; 
All  shrunk  and  wizen, 
In  iron  prison. 
Till  spring  re-risen 

Unbar  the  gates  ; 
Till,  as  with  clamour 
Of  axe  and  hammer. 
Chained  streams  that  stammer 

And  struggle  in  straits 
Burst  bonds  that  shiver. 
And  thaws  deliver 
The  roaring  river  in  stormy  spates. 


XI 

In  fierce  March  weather 
White  waves  break  tether. 

And  whirled  together 
At  either  hand, 
Like  weeds  uplifted, 
The  tree-trunks  rifted 
In  spars  are  drifted, 

Like  foam  or  sand, 

131 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

Past  swamp  and  sallow 
And  reed-beds  callow, 
Through  pool  and  shallow, 

To  wind  and  lee, 
Till,  no  more  tongue-tied, 
Full  flood  and  young  tide 
Roar  down  the  rapids  and  storm  the  sea. 

XII 

As  men's  cheeks  faded 
On  shores  invaded. 
When  shorewards  waded 

The  lords  of  fight ; 
When  churl  and  craven 
Saw  hard  on  haven 
The  wide-winged  raven 

At  mainmast  height 
When  monks  afirighted 
To  windward  sighted 
The  birds  full-flighted 

Of  swift  sea-kings ; 
So  earth  turns  paler 
When  Storm  the  sailor 
Steers  in  with  a  roar  in  the  race  of  his  wings. 

XIII 

O  strong  sea-sailor. 
Whose  cheek  turns  paler 

132 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

For  wind  or  hail  or 
For  fear  of  thee  ? 
O  far  sea-farer, 
O  thunder-bearer, 
Thy  songs  are  rarer 

Than  soft  songs  be. 
O  fleet-foot  stranger, 
O  north-sea  ranker 
Through  days  of  danger 

And  ways  of  fear. 
Blow  thy  horn  here  for  us, 
Blow  the  sky  clear  for  us. 
Send  us  the  song  of  the  sea  to  hear. 


XIV 

Roll  the  strong  stream  of  it 
Up,  till  the  scream  of  it 
Wake  from  a  dream  of  it 

Children  that  sleep. 
Seamen  that  fare  for  them 
Forth,  with  a  prayer  tor  them  ; 
Shall  not  God  care  for  them. 

Angels  not  keep? 
Spare  not  the  surges 
Thy  stormy  scourges ; 
Spare  us  the  dirges 

Of  wives  that  weep. 


FOUR    SONGS    OF    FOUR    SEASONS 

Turn  back  the  waves  for  us  : 
Dig  no  fresh  graves  for  us, 
Wind,  in  the  manifold  gulfs  of  the  deep.      . 


XV 


O  stout  north-easter. 
Sea-king,  land-waster, 
For  all  thine  haste,  or 

Thy  stormy  skill, 
Yet  hadst  thou  never. 
For  all  endeavour. 
Strength  to  dissever 

Or  strength  to  spill, 
Save  of  his  giving 
Who  gave  our  living, 
Whose  hands  are  weaving 

What  ours  fulfil ; 
Whose  feet  tread  under 
The  storms  and  thunder  ; 
Who  made  our  wonder  to  work  his  \v 


XVI 

His  years  and  hours, 
His  world's  blind  powers. 
His  stars  and  flowers, 
His  nights  and  days, 

134 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

Sea-tide  and  river, 
And  waves  that  shiver, 
Praise  God,  the  driver 

Of  tongues  to  praise. 
Winds  in  their  blowinor. 
And  fruits  in  growing  ; 
Time  in  its  going, 

While  time  shall  be  ; 
In  death  and  living, 
With  one  thanksgiving. 
Praise  him  whose  hand  is  the  strength  of  the  sc-a, 


135 


FOUR    SONGS    OF    FOUR    SEASONS 


II 


SPRING    IN    TUSCANY 


ROSE-RED  lilies  that  bloom  on  the  banner  ; 
Rose-cheeked  gardens  that  revel  in  spring ; 
Rose-mouthed  acacias  that  laugh  as  they  climb, 
Like  plumes  for  a  queen's  hand  fashioned  to  fan  her 
With  wind  more  soft  than  a  wild  dove's  wing, 

What  do  they  sing  in  the  spring  of  their  time? 

If  this  be  the  rose  that  the  world  hears  singing. 
Soft  in  the  soft  night,  loud  in  the  day, 

Songs  for  the  fire-flies  to  dance  as  they  hear ; 
If  that  be  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  springing 
Forth  in  the  form  of  a  rose  in  May, 

What  do  they  say  of  the  way  of  the  year? 

What  of  the  way  of  the  world  gone  Maying, 
What  of  the  work  of  the  buds  in  the  bowers. 
What  of  the  will  of  the  wind  on  the  wall, 
Fluttering  the  wall-flowers,  sighing  and  playing, 
Shrinkinjx  again  as  a  bird  that  cowers, 

ThinkinfT  of  hours  when  the  llowers  have  to  fall? 

136 


FOUR    SONGS    OF    FOUR    SEASONS 

Out  of  the  throats  of  the  loud  birds  showerinir. 
Out  of  the  folds  where  the  flag-lilies  leap, 
Out  of  the  mouths  of  the  roses  stirred, 
Out  of  the  herbs  on  the  walls  reflowering, 

Out  of  the  heights  where  the  sheer  snows  sleep, 
Out  of  the  deep  and  the  steep,  one  word. 

One  from  the  lips  of  the  lily-flames  leaping. 
The  glad  red  lilies  that  burn  in  our  sight, 

The  great  live  lilies  for  standard  and  crown  ; 
One  from  the  steeps  where  the  pines  stand  sleeping, 
One  from  the  deep  land,  one  from  the  height. 

One  from  the  light  and  the  might  of  the  town. 


The  lowlands  laugh  with  delight  of  the  highlands. 
Whence  May  winds  feed  them  with  balm  and  breath 
From  hills  that  beheld  in  the  years  behind 
A  shape  as  of  one  from  the  blest  souls'  islands, 
Made  fair  by  a  soul  too  fair  for  death. 

With  eyes  on  the  light  that  should  smite  them  blind. 


Vallombrosa  remotely  remembers, 

Perchance,  what  still  to  us  seems  so  near 

That  time  not  darkens  it,  change  not  mars, 
The  foot  that  she  knew  when  her  leaves  were  September's, 
The  face  lift  up  to  the  star-blind  seer, 

That  saw  from  his  prison  arisen  his  stars. 

137 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

And  Pisa  broods  on  her  dead,  not  mourning, 
For  love  of  her  loveliness  given  them  in  fee ; 

And  Prato  gleams  with  the  glad  monk's  gift 
Whose  hand  was  there  as  the  hand  of  morning ; 
And  Siena,  set  in  the  sand's  red  sea, 

Lifts  loftier  her  head  than  the  red  sand's  drift. 


And  far  to  the  fair  south-westward  lightens, 

Girdled  and  sandalled  and  plumed  with  flowers, 
At  sunset  over  the  love-lit  lands, 
The  hill-side's  crown  where  the  wild  hill  brightens, 
Saint  Fina's  town  of  the  Beautiful  Towers, 
Hailing  the  sun  with  a  hundred  hands. 

Land  of  us  all  that  have  loved  thee  dearliest. 
Mother  of  men  that  were  lords  of  man. 

Whose  name  in  the  world's  heart  works  as  a  spell, 
My  last  song's  light,  and  the  star  of  mine  earliest. 
As  we  turn  from  thee,  sweet,  who  wast  ours  for  a  span, 
Fare  well  we  may  not  who  sa}'^  farewell. 


138 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 


III 


SUMMER    IN    AUVERGNE 


THE  sundawn  fills  the  land 
Full  as  a  feaster's  hand 
Fills  full  with  bloom  of  bland 

Bright  wine  his  cup  ; 
Flows  full  to  flood  that  fills 
From  the  arch  of  air  it  thrills 
Those  rust-red  iron  hills 
With  morning  up. 


Dawn,  as  a  panther  springs, 
With  fierce  and  fire-fledged  wings 
Leaps  on  the  land  that  rings 

From  her  bright  feet 
Through  all  its  lava-black 
Cones  that  cast  answer  back 
And  cliffs  of  footless  track 

Where  thunders  meet. 

139 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

The  light  speaks  wide  and  loud 
From  deeps  blown  clean  of  cloud 
As  though  day's  heart  were  proud 

And  heaven's  were  glad  ; 
The  towers  brown-striped  and  gre}'' 
Take  fire  from  heaven  of  da}^ 
As  though  the  prayers  they  pray 

Their  answers  had. 

Hiojher  in  these  high  first  hours 
Wax  all  the  keen  church  towers 
And  higher  all  hearts  of  ours 

Than  the  old  hills'  crown, 
Higher  than  the  pillared  height 
Of  that  strange  clifF-side  bright 
With  basalt  towers  whose  might 

Strong  time  bows  dow^n. 

And  the  old  fierce  ruin  there 
Of  the  old  wild  princes'  lair 
Whose  blood  in  mine  hath  share 

Gapes  gaunt  and  great 
Toward  heaven  that  long  ago 
Watched  all  the  wan  land's  woe 
Whereon  the  wind  would  blow 

Of  their  bleak  hate. 

Dead  are  those  deeds  ;  but  yet 
Their  memory  seems  to  fret 

140 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

Lands  that  might  else  forget 

That  old  world's  brand  ; 
Dead  all  their  sins  and  days ; 
Yet  in  this  red  clime's  ra3's 
Some  fiery  memory  stays 

That  scars  their  land. 


141 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 


IV 


AUTUMN    IN    CORNWALL 


THE  year  lies  fallen  and  faded 
On  cliffs  by  clouds  invaded, 
With  tongues  of  storms  upbraided, 
With  wrath  of  waves  bedinned 
And  inland,  wild  with  warning, 
As  in  deaf  ears  or  scorning, 
The  clarion  even  and  morning 

Rincs  of  the  south-west  wind. 


Tiie  wild  bents  wane  and  wither 
In  blasts  whose  breath  bows  hither 
Their  gre3'-grown  heads  and  thither, 

Unblest  of  rain  or  sun  ; 
The  pale  fierce  heavens  are  crowded 
With  shapes  like  dreams  beclouded, 
As  though  the  old  year  enshrouded 

Lay,  long  ere  life  were  done. 

142 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

Full-charged  with  old-world  wonders, 
From  dusk  Tintagel  thunders 
A  note  that  smites  and  sunders 

The  hard  frore  fields  of  air ; 
A  trumpet  stormier-sounded 
Than  once  from  lists  rebounded 
When  strong  men  sense-confounded 

Fell  thick  in  tourney  there. 


From  scarce  a  duskier  dwelling 
Such  notes  of  w^ail  rose  welling 
Through  the  outer  darkness,  telling 

In  the  awful  singer's  ears 
What  souls  the  darkness  covers, 
What  love-lost  souls  of  lovers, 
Whose  cry  still  hangs  and  hovers 

In  each  man's  born  that  hears. 


For  there  by  Hector's  brother 
And  yet  some  thousand  other 
He  that  had  grief  to  mother 

Passed  pale  from  Dante's  sight ; 
With  one  fast  linked  as  fearless, 
Perchance,  there  only  tearless  ; 
Iseult  and  Tristram,  peerless 

And  perfect  queen  and  knight. 

143 


FOUR  SONGS  OF  FOUR  SEASONS 

A  shrill-wiiiiied  sound  comes  flvin<; 
North,  as  of  wild  souls  crying 
The  cry  of  things  undying, 

That  know  what  life  must  be 
Or  as  the  old  year's  heart,  stricken 
Too  sore  lor  hope  to  quicken 
By  thoughts  like  thorns  that  thicken, 

Broke,  breaking  with  the  sea. 


144 


THE   WHITE    CZAR 


[In  an  English  magazine  of  1877  there  appeared  a  version  of  some 
insolent  lines  addressed  by  'A  Russian  Poet  to  the  Empress  of  India.'  To 
these  the  first  of  the  two  following  sonnets  was  designed  to  serve  by  way 
of  counterblast.  The  writer  will  scarcely  be  suspected  of  royalism  or 
imperialism;  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  an  insult  levelled  by  Muscovite  lips 
at  the  ruler  of  England  might  perhaps  be  less  unfitly  than  unofficially 
resented  by  an  Englishman  who  was  also  a  republican.] 


GEHAZI  by  the  hue  thai  chills  thy  cheek 
And  Pilate  by  the  hue  that  scans  thine  hand 

Whence  all  earth's  waters  cannot  wash  the  brand 
That  signs  thy  soul  a  manslaver's  thousj^h  thou  speak 
All  Christ,  with  lips  most  murderous  and  most  meek 

Thou  set  thy  foot  where  England's  used  to  stand  ! 

Thou  reach  thy  rod  forth  over  Indian  land  ! 
Slave  of  the  slaves  that  call  thee  lord,  and  weak 
As  their  foul  tongues  who  praise  thee  !   son  of  them 
Whose  presence  put  the  snows  and  stars  to  shame 

In  centuries  dead  and  damned  that  reek  below 
Curse-consecrated,  crowned  with  crime  and  flame, 

To  them  that  bare  thee  like  them  slialt  thou  go 

Forth  of  man's  life  —  a  leper  white  as  snow. 

145 


THE    WHITE    CZAR 
II 

Call  for  clear  water,  wash  thine  hands,  be  clean, 
Cry,   IV/iat  is  truth  P  O  Pilate  ;  thou  shalt  know 
Haply  too  soon,  and  gnash  tliy  teeth  for  woe 
Ere  the  outer  darkness  take  thee  round  unseen 
That  hides  the  red  ghosts  of  thy  race  obscene 

Bound  nine  times  round  with  hell's  most  dolorous  How 
And  in  its  pools  thy  crownless  head  lie  low 
By  his  of  Spain  who  dared  an  English  queen 
With  half  a  world  to  hearten  him  for  light. 
Till  the  wind  gave  his  warriors  and  their  might 

To  shipwreck  and  the  corpse-encumbered  sea : 
But  thou,  take  heed,  ere  yet  thy  lips  w^ax  white. 
Lest  as  it  was  with  Philip  so  it  be, 
O  white  of  name  and  red  of  hand,  with  thee. 


146 


RIZPAH 


HOW  many  sons,  how  many  generations, 
For  how  long  years  hast  thou  bewept,  and  known 
Nor  end  of  torment  nor  surcease  of  moan, 
Rachel  or  Rizpah,  wofullest  of  nations, 
Crowned  with  the  crowning  sign  of  desolations. 
And  couldst  not  even  scare  off  with  hand  or  groan 
Those  carrion  birds  devouring  bone  by  bone 
The  children  of  thy  thousand  tribulations  ? 
Thou  wast  our  warrior  once ;  thv  sons  long  dead 
Against  a  foe  less  foul  than  this  made  head, 

Poland,  in  years  that  sound  and  shine  afar ; 
Ere  the  east  beheld  in  thy  bright  sword-blade's  stead 
The  rotten  corpse-light  of  the  Russian  star 
That  liiihts  towards  hell  his  bondslaves  and  their  Cz:ar. 


147 


TO    LOUIS    KOSSUTH 


LIGHT  of  our  fathers'  eyes,  and  in  our  own 
Star  of  the  unsetting  sunset !  for  thy  name, 

'i'hat  on  the  front  of  noon  was  as  a  flame 
In  ihe  great  year  nigh  twenty  years  agone 
Wiien  all  the  heavens  of  Europe  shook  and  shone 

With  stormy  wind  and  lightning,  keeps  its  fame 

And  bears  its  witness  all  day  through  the  same  ; 
Not  for  past  days  and  great  deeds  past  alone, 
Kossuth,  we  praise  thee  as  our  Landor  praised, 
But  that  now  too  we  know  thy  voice  upraised, 

Thy  voice,  the  trumpet  of  the  truth  of  God, 
Thine  hand,  the  thunder-bearer's,  raised  to  smite 

As  with  heaven's  lightning  for  a  sword  and  rod 
Men's  heads  abased  before  the  Muscovite. 


148 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM   THE  FRENCH 
OF    VILLON 


THE   COMPLAINT    OF   THE    FAIR 
ARMOURESS 


MESEEMETH  I  heard  cry  and  groan 
That  sweet  who  was  the  armourer's  maid  ; 
For  her  young  years  she  made  sore  moan, 
And  right  upon  this  wise  she  said  ; 
'  Ah  fierce  old  age  with  foul  bald  head, 
To  spoil  fair  things  thou  art  over  fain  ; 

Who  holdeth  me?  who?  would  God  I  were  dead  ! 
Would  God  1  were  well  dead  and  slain  I 


II 

'  Lo,  thou  hast  broken  the  sweet  yoke 
That  my  high  beauty  held  above 

All  priests  and  clerks  and  merchant-folk  ; 
There  was  not  one  but  for  my  love 

149 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  THE  FAIR  ARMOURESS 

Would  give  me  gold  and  gold  enough, 
Though  sorrow  his  very  heart  had  riven, 

To  win  from  me  such  wage  thereof 
As  now  no  thief  would  take  if  given. 


Ill 


♦  I  was  right  chary  of  the  same, 

God  wot  it  was  my  great  folly. 
For  love  of  one  sly  knave  of  them, 

Good  store  of  that  same  sweet  had  he  ; 

For  all  my  subtle  wiles,  perdie, 
God  wot  I  loved  him  well  enow ; 

Right  evilly  he  handled  me, 
But  he  loved  well  my  gold,  I  trow. 


IV 


'  Though  I  gat  bruises  green  and  black, 
I  loved  him  never  the  less  a  jot; 

Though  he  bound  burdens  on  my  back, 
If  he  said  "  Kiss  me  "  and  heed  it  not 
Right  little  pain  I  felt,  God  wot, 

When  that  foul  thief's  mouth,  found  so  sweet, 
Kissed  me  —  Much  good  thereof  I  got  ! 

I  keej")  the  sin  and  the  shame  of  it. 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  THE  FAIR  ARMOURESS 


'  And  he  died  thirty  year  agone. 

I  am  old  now,  no  sweet  thing  to  see  ; 
By  God,  though,  when  I  think  thereon, 

And  of  that  good  glad  time,  woe's  me, 

And  stare  upon  my  changed  body 
Stark  naked,  that  has  been  so  sweet. 

Lean,  wizen,  like  a  small  dry  tree, 
I  am  nigh  mad  with  the  pain  of  it. 


VI 

'  Where  is  my  faultless  forehead's  white. 

The  lifted  eyebrows,  soft  gold  hair. 
Eyes  wide  apart  and  keen  of  sight, 

With  subtle  skill  in  the  amorous  air ; 

The  straight  nose,  great  nor  small,  but  fair. 
The  small  carved  ears  of  shapeliest  growth, 

Chin  dimpling,  colour  good  to  wear. 
And  sweet  red  splendid  kissing  mouth? 


VII 

'The  shapely  slender  shoulders  small. 

Long  arms,  hands  wrought  in  glorious  wise, 

Round  little  breasts,  the  hips  withal 
High,  full  of  ilesh,  not  scant  of  size, 

I^I 


THE  COIVIPLAINT  OF  THE  FAIR  ARMOURESS 
Fit  for  all  amorous  masteries ; 


VIII 


*  A  vvrithled  forehead,  hair  gone  grey, 

Fallen  eyebrows,  eyes  gone  blind  and  red, 
Their  laughs  and  looks  all  fled  away, 

Vea,  all  that  smote  men's  hearts  are  fled; 

The  bowed  nose,  fallen  from  goodlihead  ; 
Foul  flapping  ears  like  water-flags  ; 

Peaked  chin,  and  cheeks  all  waste  and  dead, 
And  lips  that  are  two  skinny  rags  : 


IX 


'  Thus  endelh  all  the  beauty  of  us. 

The  arms  made  short,  the  hands  made  lean, 
The  shoulders  bowed  and  ruinous. 

The  breasts,  alack  !   all  fallen  in  ; 

The  flanks  too,  like  the  breasts,  grown  thin  ; 

♦*##   «»»   ****  **#*#*   ******   **   *******-****, 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  THE  FAIR  ARMOURESS 


'  So  we  make  moan  for  the  old  sweet  clays, 

Poor  old  light  women,  two  or  three 
Squatting  above  the  straw-fire's  blaze, 

The  bosom  crushed  against  the  knee, 

Like  fagots  on  a  heap  we  be, 
Round  fires  soon  lit,  soon  quenched  and  done  ; 

And  we  were  once  so  sweet,  even  we  ! 
Thus  fareth  many  and  many  an  one.' 


153 


A    DOUBLE    BALLAD    OF   GOOD 
COUNSEL 

NOW  take  your  fill  of  love  and  glee, 
And  after  balls  and  banquets  hie  ; 
In  the  end  ye'll  get  no  good  for  fee, 
But  just  heads  broken  by  and  by  ; 
Light  loves  make  beasts  of  men  that  sigii  ; 
They  changed  the  faith  of  Solomon, 

And  left  not  Samson  lights  to  spy  ; 
Good  luck  has  he  that  deals  with  none  ! 

Sweet  Orpheus,  lord  of  minstrelsy, 

For  this  with  flute  and  pipe  came  nigh 
The  danrrer  of  the  dog's  heads  three 

That  ravening  at  hell's  door  doth  lie  ; 

Fain  was  Narcissus,  fair  and  shy, 
For  love's  love  lightly  lost  and  won. 

In  a  deep  well  to  drown  and  die  ; 
Good  luck  has  he  that  deals  with  none  ! 

Sardana,  flower  of  chivalry. 

Who  conquered  Crete  with  horn  and  cry. 
For  this  was  fain  a  maid  to  be 

And  learn  with  girls  the  thread  to  ply  ; 

King  David,  wise  in  prophecy. 
Forgot  the  fear  of  God  for  one 

154 


A  DOUBLE  BALLAD  OF  GOOD  COUNSEL 

Seen  washing  either  shapely  thigh  ; 
Good  hick  has  he  that  deals  with  none  ! 

For  this  did  Amnon,  craftily 

Feigning  to  eat  of  cakes  of  rye, 
Deflower  his  sister  fair  to  see, 

Which  was  foul  incest ;  and  hereby 

Was  Herod  moved,  it  is  no  lie, 
To  lop  the  head  of  Baptist  John 

For  dance  and  jig  and  psaltery  ; 
Good  luck  has  he  that  deals  with  none  ! 

Next  of  myself  I  tell,  poor  me. 

How  thrashed  like  clothes  at  wash  was  I 
Stark  naked,  I  must  needs  agree  ; 

Who  made  me  eat  so  sour  a  pie 

But  Katherine  of  Vaucelles?  thereby 
Noe  took  third  part  of  that  fun  ; 

Such  wedding-gloves  are  ill  to  buy ; 
Good  luck  has  he  that  deals  with  none  ! 

But  for  that  young  man  fair  and  free 

To  pass  those  young  maids  lightly  b}'. 

Nay,  would  you  burn  him  quick,  not  he ; 

Like  broom-horsed  witches  though  he  fry. 
They  are  sweet  as  civet  in  his  eye ; 

But  trust  them,  and  you're  fooled  anon  ; 
For  white  or  brown,  and  low  or  hiofh. 

Good  luck  has  he  that  deals  with  none  ! 


155 


FRAGMENT    ON    DEATH 


AND  Paris  be  it  or  Helen  dying, 
Who  dies  soever,  dies  with  pain. 
He  that  lacks  breath  and  wind  for  sighing. 
His  gall  bursts  on  his  heart ;  and  then 
He  sweats,  God  knows  what  sweat !   again, 
No  man  may  ease  him  of  his  grief ; 

Child,  brother,  sister,  none  were  lain 
To  bail  him  thence  for  his  relief. 

Death  makes  him  shudder,  swoon,  wax  pale. 

Nose  bend,  veins  stretch,  and  breath  surrender, 
Neck  swell,  flesh  soften,  joints  that  fail 

Crack  their  strained  nerves  and  arteries  slender. 

O  woman's  body  found  so  tender. 
Smooth,  sweet,  so  precious  in  men's  eyes, 

Must  thou  too  bear  such  count  to  render? 
Yes  ;  or  pass  quick  into  the  skies. 

[  In  the  original  here  follows  Villon's  masterpiece,  the  matcliless  Fiillad 
pf  (he  Ladies  of  Old  Time,  so  incomparably  rendered  in  tlie  marvellous  ver- 
sion of  Mr.  Kossetti;  followed  in  its  turn  by  the  succeeding  poem,  as  inferior 
to  its  companion  as  is  my  attempt  at  translation  of  it  to  his  triumph  in  that 
higher  and  harder  field.  —  A.  C.  S.] 


156 


BALLAD  OF  THE  LORDS  OF  OLD 

TIME 

(after  the  p'Ormer  argument) 


w 


HAT  more?  Where  is  the  third  Calixt, 
Last  of  that  name  now  dead  and  gone, 


Who  held  four  years  the  Papalist? 
Alphonso  king  of  Aragon, 
The  gracious  lord,  duke  of  Bourbon, 

And  Arthur,  duke  of  old  Britaine? 

And  Charles  the  Seventh,  that  worthy  one? 

Even  with  the  <iood  knif^rht  Charlemain. 


&" 


The  Scot  too,  king  of  mount  and  mist, 

With  half  his  face  vermilion. 
Men  tell  us,  like  an  amethyst 

From  brow  to  chin  that  blazed  and  shone  ; 

The  Cypriote  king  of  old  renown, 
Alas  !   and  that  good  king  of  Spain, 

Whose  name  I  cannot  think  upon? 
Even  witli  the  eood  knijiht  Charlemain. 


BALLAD  OF  THE  LORDS  OF  OLD  TLME 

No  more  to  say  oi  them  I  list ; 

'Tis  all  but  vain,  all  dead  and  done  : 
For  death  may  no  man  born  resist, 

Nor  make  appeal  when  death  comes  on. 

I  make  yet  one  more  question  ; 
Where's  Lancelot,  king  of  far  Bohain? 

Where's  he  whose  grandson  called  him  son? 
Even  with  the  good  knight  Charlemain. 

Where  is  Guesclin,  the  good  Breton? 

The  lord  of  tlie  eastern  mountain-chain, 
And  the  good  late  duke  of  Alencon? 

Even  with  the  good  knight  Charlemain. 


15S 


BALLAD  OF  THE  WOMEN  OF   PARIS 


ALBEIT  the  Venice  girls  get  praise 
For  their  sweet  speech  and  tender  air, 
And  though  the  old  women  have  wise  ways 
Of  chaffering  for  amorous  ware, 
Yet  at  my  peril  dare  I  swear, 
Search  Rome,  where  God's  grace  mainly  tarries, 

Florence  and  Savoy,  everywhere. 
There's  no  good  girl's  lip  out  of  Paris. 

The  Naples  women,  as  folk  prattle, 

Are  sweetly  spoken  and  subtle  enough  : 
German  girls  are  good  at  tattle, 

And  Prussians  make  their  boast  thereof ; 

Take  Egypt  for  the  next  remove, 
Or  that  waste  land  the  Tartar  harries, 

Spain  or  Greece,  for  the  matter  of  love. 
There's  no  good  girl's  lip  out  of  Paris. 

Breton  and  Swiss  know  nought  of  the  matter, 
Gascony  girls  or  girls  of  Toulouse  ; 

Two  fishwomen  with  a  half-hour's  chatter 
Would  shut  them  up  by  threes  and  twos  ; 

159 


liALLAl)    OF    THE    WOMEN    OK    IWRIS 

Calais,  Lorraine,  and  all  their  crews, 
(Names  enow  the  mad  song  marries) 

England  and  Picardy,  search  them  and  choose, 
There's  no  good  girl's  lip  out  of  Paris. 

Prince,  give  praise  to  our  French  ladies 

For  the  sweet  sound  their  speaking  carries  ; 

'Twixt  Rome  and  Cadiz  many  a  maid  is. 
But  no  good  girl's  lip  out  of  Paris. 


1 60 


BALLAD     WRITTEN     FOR    A    BRIDE- 
GROOM 


WHICH    VILLON    GAVE    TO    A     GENTLEMAN    NEWLY    MAR- 
RIED   TO    SEND    TO    HIS    WIFE    WHOM    HE 
HAD    WON    WITH    THE    SWORD 


AT  daybreak,  when  the  falcon  cLnps  his  wings, 
No  whit  for  grief,  but  noble  heart  and  high. 
With  loud  glad  noise  he  stirs  himself  and  springs, 
And  takes  his  meat  and  toward  his  lure  draws  nigh  ; 
Such  good  I  wish  you  !  Yea,  and  heartily 
I  am  fired  with  hope  of  true  love's  meed  to  get ; 
Know  that  Love  writes  it  in  his  book ;   for  why, 
This  is  the  end  for  which  we  twain  are  met. 

Mine  own  heart's  lady  with  no  gainsayings 
You  shall  be  always  wholly  till  I  die  ; 
And  in  my  right  against  all  bitter  things 
Sweet  laurel  with  fresh  rose  its  force  shall  try ; 
Seeing  reason  wills  not  that  I  cast  love  by 
(Nor  here  with  reason  shall  I  chide  or  fret) 
Nor  cease  to  serve,  but  serve  more  constantl}^ ; 
This  is  the  end  for  which  we  twain  are  mvi. 

i6i 


BALLAD  WRITTEN  FOR  A  BRIDEGROOM 

And,  which  is  more,  when  grief  about  me  clings 
Through  Fortune's  fit  or  fume  of  jealousy, 
Your  sweet  kind  eye  beats  down  her  threatenings 
As  wind  doth  smoke  ;  such  power  sits  in  your  eye. 
Thus  in  your  field  my  seed  of  harvestry 
Thrives,  for  the  fruit  is  like  me  that  I  set ; 
God  bids  me  tend  it  with  good  husbandry  ; 
This  is  the  end  for  which  we  twain  are  met. 

Princess,  give  ear  to  this  my  summary  ; 

That  heart  of  mine  your  heart's  love  should  forget, 

Shall  never  be  :  like  trust  in  you  put  I  : 

This  is  the  end  for  which  we  twain  are  met. 


162 


BALLAD    AGAINST    THE     ENEMIES 
OF    FRANCE 


M 


AY  he  fall  in  with  beasts  that  scatter  fire, 

Like  Jason,  when  he  sought  the  fleece  ot'gold, 
Or  change  from  man  to  beast  three  years  entire, 

As  King  Nebuchadnezzar  did  of  old  ; 
Or  else  have  times  as  shameful  and  as  bad 
As  Trojan  folk  for  ravished  Helen  had  ; 
Or  gulfed  with  Proserpine  and  Tantalus 
Let  hell's  deep  fen  devour  him  dolorous, 

With  worse  to  bear  than  Job's  worst  sufferance. 
Bound  in  his  prison-maze  witli  Daedalus, 

Who  could  wish  evil  to  the  state  of  France  ! 


May  he  four  months,  like  bitterns  in  the  mire. 

Howl  with  head  downmost  in  the  lake-springs  cold, 
Or  to  bear  harness  like  strong  bulls  for  hire 

To  the  Great  Turk  for  money  down  be  sold  ; 
Or  thirty  years  like  Magdalen  live  sad, 
With  neither  wool  nor  web  of  linen  clad  ; 
Drown  like  Narciss',  or  swing  down  pendulous 
Like  Absalom  with  locks  luxurious. 

Or  liker  Judas  fallen  to  reprobance  ; 
Or  tind  such  death  as  Simon  sorcerous, 

Who  could  wish  evil  to  the  state  of  France  ! 

163 


BALLAD  AGAINST  ENEMIES  OF  FRANCE 

Ma}'  tlic  old  times  come  of  fierce  Octavian's  ire, 

And  in  his  belly  molten  coin  be  told  ; 
Ma\-  he  like  Victor  in  the  mill  expire, 

Crushed  between  moving  millstones  on  him  rolled 
Or  in  deep  sea  drenched  breathless,  more  adrad 
Than  in  the  whale's  bulk  Jonas,  when  God  bade  : 
From  Phcebus'  light,  from  Juno's  treasure-house 
Driven,  and  from  joys  of  Venus  amorous, 

And  cursed  of  God  most  high  to  the  utterance, 
As  was  the  Syrian  king  Antiochus, 

Who  could  wish  evil  to  the  state  of  France  ! 

ENVOY 

Prince,  may  the  bright-winged  brood  of  ^olus 
To  sea-king  Glaucus'  wild  wood  cavernous 

Bear  him  bereft  of  peace  and  hope's  least  glance. 
For  worthless  is  he  to  get  good  of  us. 

Who  could  wish  evil  to  the  state  of  France  ! 


164 


THE    DISPUTE    OF    THE    HEART    AND 
BODY    OF    FRANgOIS    VILLON 


WHO  is  this  I  hear? — Lo,  this  is  I,  thine  heart, 
That  holds  on  merely  now  by  a  slender  string. 
Strength  fails  me,  shape  and  sense  are  rent  apart. 
The  blood  in  me  is  turned  to  a  bitter  thing. 
Seeing  thee  skulk  here  like  a  dog  shivering. — 
Yea,  and  for  what?  —  For  that  thy  sense  found  sweet.  — 
What  irks  it  thee  ?  —  I  feel  the  sting  of  it.  — 

Leave  me  at  peace.  —  Why  ?  —  Nay  now,  leave  me  at 
peace ; 
I  will  repent  when  I  grow  ripe  in  wit.  — 

I  say  no  more.  —  I  care  not  though  thou  cease.  — 

What  art  thou,  trow?  —  A  man  worth  praise,  perfay.  — 
This  is  my  thirtieth  year  of  wayfaring.  — 

'Tis  a  mule's  age.  — Art  thou  a  boy  still?  —  Nay.  — 
Is  it  hot  lust  that  spurs  thee  with  its  sting. 
Grasping  thy  throat?  Know'st  thou  not  anything?  — 

Yea,  black  and  white,  when  milk  is  specked  with  flies, 

I  can  make  out.  —  No  more?  —  Nay,  in  no  wise. 
Shall  I  begin  again  the  count  of  these?  — 

Thou  art  undone. — I  will  make  shift  to  rise. — 
I  say  no  more.  — I  care  not  though  thou  cease.  — 

i6s 


DISPUTE    OF    HEART    AND    BODY 

I  have  the  sorrow  of  it,  and  thou  the  smart. 

Wert  thou  a  poor  mad  tool  or  weak  of  wit, 
Then  might'st  thou  plead  this  pretext  with  thine  heart ; 

But  if  thou  know  not  good  from  evil  a  whit. 

Either  thy  head  is  hard  as  stone  to  hit, 
Or  shame,  not  honour,  gives  thee  most  content. 
What  canst  thou  answer  to  this  argument?  — 

When  I  am  dead  I  shall  be  well  at  ease. — 
God  !  what  good  luck  1  —  Thou  art  over  eloquent.  — 

I  say  no  more.  —  I  care  not  though  thou  cease. — 

Whence  is  this  ill?  —  From  sorrow  and  not  from  sin. 

When  saturn  packed  my  wallet  up  for  me, 
I  well  believe  he  put  these  ills  therein.  — 

Fool,  wilt  thou  make  thy  servant  lord  of  thee? 

Hear  now  the  wise  king's  counsel ;  thus  sailh  he  ; 
All  power  upon  the  stars  a  wise  man  hath  ; 
There  is  no  planet  that  shall  do  him  scathe.  — 

Nay,  as  they  made  me  I  grow  and  I  decrease.  — 
What  say'st  thou?  —  Truly  this  is  all  my  faith.  — 

I  say  no  more.  —  I  care  not  though  thou  cease. — 

Wouldst  thou  live  still?  —  God  help  me  that  I  may  !  — 
Then  thou  must  —  What?  turn  penitent  and  pray?  — 
Read  always  —  What?  —  Grave  words  and  good  to  say  ; 

Leave  off  the  ways  of  fools,  lest  they  displease. — 
Good;  I  will  do  it. — Wilt  thou  remember? — Yea. — 
Abide  not  till  there  come  an  evil  day. 

I  say  no  more.  —  I  care  not  though  thou  cease. 

1 66 


EPISTLE    IN    FORM    OF    A     BALLAD 
TO    HIS    FRIENDS 


HAVE  pity,  pity,  friends,  have  pity  on  me, 
Thus  much  at  least,  may  it  please  you,  of  your  grace  I 
I  lie  not  under  hazel  or  hawthorn-tree 

Down  in  this  dungeon  ditch,  mine  exile's  place 

B}^  leave  of  God  and  fortune's  foul  disgrace. 
Girls,  lovers,  glad  young  folk  and  newly  wed, 
Jumpers  and  jugglers,  tumbling  heel  o'er  head. 

Swift  as  a  dart,  and  sharp  as  needle-ware. 
Throats  clear  as  bells  that  ring  the  kine  to  shed, 

Your  poor  old  friend,  what,  will  you  leave  him  there? 

Singers  that  sing  at  pleasure,  lawlessly, 

Light,  laughing,  gay  of  word  and  deed,  that  race 

And  run  like  folk  light-watted  as  ye  be 

And  have  in  hand  nor  current  coin  nor  base. 
Ye  wait  too  long,  for  now  he's  dying  apace. 

Rhymers  of  lays  and  roundels  sung  and  read, 

Ye'll  brew  him  broth  too  late  when  he  lies  dead. 
Nor  wind  nor  lightning,  sunbeam  not  fresh  air, 

May  pierce  the  thick  wall's  bound  where  lies  his  bed  ; 
Your  poor  old  friend,  what,  will  you  leave  him  there? 

167 


EPISTLE    IN    FORM    OF    A    BALLAD 

O  noble  folk  from  tithes  and  taxes  free, 
Come  and  behold  him  in  this  piteous  case, 

Ve  that  nor  king  nor  emperor  holds  in  fee, 
But  only  God  in  heaven  ;   behold  his  face 
Who  needs  must  fast,  Sundaj-s  and  holidays, 

Which  makes  his  teeth  like  rakes  ;   and  when  he  hath  fed 

With  never  a  cake  for  banquet  but  dry  bread, 

Must  drench  his  bowels  with  much  cold  watery  fare. 

With  board  nor  stool,  but  low  on  earth  instead  ; 

Your  poor  old  friend,  what,  will  you  leave  him  there? 

Princes  afore-named,  old  and  young  foresaid, 
Get  me  the  king's  seal  and  my  pardon  sped. 

And  hoist  me  in  some  basket  up  with  care : 
So  swine  will  help  each  other  ill  bested. 
For  where  one  squeaks  they  run  in  heaps  ahead. 

Your  poor  old  friend,  what,  will  you  leave  him  there? 


1 68 


THE    EPITAPH    IN    FORM    OF   A 
BALLAD 


which  villon  made  for  hlmself  and  his  comrades, 
f:xpecting  to  be  hanged  along  with  them 


MEN,  brother  men,  that  after  us  yet  live, 
Let  not  your  hearts  too  hard  against  us  be  ; 
For  if  some  pity  of  us  poor  men  ve  ^'ive, 
The  sooner  God  shall  take  of  you  pity. 
Here  are  we  five  or  six  strung  up,  3'ou  see. 
And  here  the  flesh  that  all  too  well  we  fed 
Bit  b\'  bit  eaten  and  rotten,  rent  and  shred. 
And  we  the  bones  grow  dust  and  ash  withal ; 
Let  no  man  laugh  at  us  discomforted, 
But  pray  to  God  that  he  forgive  us  all. 

If  we  call  on  you,  brothers,  to  forgive, 

Ye  should  not  hold  our  prayer  in  scorn,  lliough  we 

Were  slain  In'  law  ;  ye  know  that  all  alive 

Have  not  wit  alvvay  to  walk  righteously  : 

Make  therefore  intercession  heartily 

With  him  that  of  a  virgin's  womb  was  bred, 

169 


EPITAPH    IN    FORM    OF    A    BALLAD 

That  his  grace  be  not  as  a  dry  well-head 
For  us,  nor  let  hell's  thunder  on  us  fall ; 
We  are  dead,  let  no  man  harry  or  vex  us  dead, 
P>ut  pray  to  God  that  he  forgive  us  all. 

The  rain  has  washed  and  laundered  us  all  five. 
And  the  sun  dried  and  blackened ;  yea,  perdie. 
Ravens  and  pies  with  beaks  that  rend  and  rive 
Have  dug  our  eyes  out,  and  plucked  oft'  for  fee 
Our  beards  and  eyebrows  ;  never  are  we  free. 
Not  once,  to  rest;  but  here  and  there  still  sped, 
Drive  at  its  wild  will  by  the  wind's  change  led, 
More  pecked  of  birds  than  fruits  on  garden-wall ; 
Men,  for  God's  love,  let  no  gibe  here  be  said, 
But  pray  to  God  that  he  tbrgive  us  all. 

Prince  Jesus,  that  of  all  art  lord  and  head. 
Keep  us,  that  hell  be  not  our  bitter  bed  ; 
We  have  nought  to  do  in  such  a  master's  hall. 
Be  not  ye  therefore  of  our  fellowhead, 
But  pray  to  God  that  he  forgive  us  all. 


170 


FROM    VICTOR    HUGO 


TAKE  heed  of  this  small  child  of  earth  ; 
He  is  great:  he  hath  in  him  God  most  high. 
Children  before  their  fleshly  birth 
Are  lights  alive  in  the  blue  sky. 

In  our  light  bitter  world  of  wrong 

They  come  ;  God  gives  us  them  awhile. 

His  speech  is  in  their  stammering  tongue, 
And  his  forgiveness  in  their  smile. 

Their  sweet  light  rests  upon  our  eyes. 

Alas  !  their  right  to  joy  is  plain. 
If  they  are  hungry,  Paradise 

Weeps,  and,  if  cold,  Heaven  thrills  with  pain. 

The  want  that  saps  their  sinless  flower 
Speaks  judgment  on  sin's  ministers. 

Man  holds  an  angel  in  his  power. 

Ah  !  deep  in  Heaven  what  thunder  stirs, 

When  God  seeks  out  these  tender  tilings 
Whom  in  the  shadow  where  we  sleep 

He  sends  us  clothed  about  with  wings. 

And  finds  them  ragged  babes  that  weep  ! 


171 


NOCTURNE 


LA  nuit  ecoule  et  se  penche  sur  I'onde 
Pour  y  cueillir  rien  qu'un  souffle  d'amour ; 
Pas  de  lueur,  pas  de  musique  au  monde, 
Pas  de  sommeil  pour  moi  ni  de  sejour. 
O  mere,  6  Nuit,  de  ta  source  profonde 
Verse-nous,  verse  enfin  I'oubli  du  jour. 

Verse  I'oubli  de  I'angoisse  et  du  jour : 
Chante  ;  ton  chant  assoupit  I'ame  et  I'onde  : 
Fais  de  ton  sein  pour  mon  ame  un  sejour, 
Elle  est  bien  lasse,  6  mere,  de  ce  monde, 
Ou  le  baiser  ne  veut  pas  dire  amour, 
Ou  I'ame  aimee  est  moins  que  toi  profonde. 

Car  toute  chose  aimee  est  moins  profonde, 
O  Nuit,  que  toi,  fille  et  mere  du  jour; 
Toi  dont  I'attente  est  le  repit  du  monde, 
Toi  dont  le  souffle  est  plein  de  mots  d'amour, 
Toi  dont  I'haleine  enfle  et  reprime  I'onde, 
Toi  dont  Fombre  a  tout  le  ciel  pour  sejour. 

172 


NOCTURNE 

La  misere  humble  et  lasse,  sans  sejonr, 
S'abrite  et  dort  sous  ton  aile  profonde  ; 
Tu  fais  a  tous  I'aumone  de  I'amour  ; 
Toutes  les  soifs  viennent  boire  a  ton  onde, 
Tout  ce  qui  pleure  et  se  derobe  au  jour, 
Toutes  les  faims  et  tous  les  maux  du  monde. 

Moi  seul  je  veille  et  ne  vois  dans  ce  monde 
Que  ma  douleur  qui  n'ait  point  de  sejour 
Ou  s'abriter  sur  ta  rive  profonde 
Et  s'endormir  sous  tes  yeux  loin  du  jour ; 
Je  vais  toujours  cherchant  au  bord  de  Tonde 
Le  sang  du  beau  pied  blesse  de  I'amour. 

La  mer  est  sombre  ou  tu  naquis,  amour, 
Pleine  des  pleurs  et  des  sanglots  du  monde  ; 
On  ne  voit  plus  le  gouffre  ou  nait  le  jour 
Luire  et  fremir  sous  ta  lueur  profonde  ; 
Mais  dans  les  coeurs  d'homme  ou  tu  fais  sejour 
La  douleur  monte  et  baisse  comme  una  onde. 


ENVOI 

Fille  de  Tonde  et  mere  de  I'amour, 

Du  haul  sejour  plein  de  ta  paix  profonde 

Sur  ce  bas  monde  epands  un  peu  de  jour. 


173 


THfiOPHILE    GAUTIER 


POUR  mettre  une  couronne  au  front  d'une  chanson, 
II  semblait  qu'en  passant  son  pied  semat  des  roses, 
Et  que  sa  main  cueillit  comme  des  fleurs  ecloses 
Les  etoiles  an  fond  du  ciel  en  floraison. 

Sa  parole  de  marbre  et  d'or  avait  le  son 
Des  clairons  de  I'ete  chassant  les  jours  moroses  ; 
Comme  en  Thrace  Apollon  banni  des  grands  cieux  roses, 
II  regardait  du  cocur  TOlympe,  sa  maison. 

Le  soleil  fut  pour  lui  le  soleil  du  vieux  monde, 
Et  son  oeil  recherchait  dans  les  Hots  embrases 
Le  sillon  immortel  d'oii  s'elanga  sur  I'onde 
Venus,  que  la  mer  molle  enivrait  de  baisers  : 
Enfin,  dieu  ressaisi  de  sa  splendeur  premiere, 
II  trone,  et  son  sepulcre  est  bati  de  lumiere. 


174 


ODE 


(le  tombeau  de  theophile  gautikr) 


QUELLE  fleiir,  6  Mort,  quel  joyau,  quel  chant, 
Quel  vent,  quel  rayon  de  soleil  couchant, 
Sur  ton  front  penche,  sur  ta  main  avide, 
Sur  I'apre  paleur  de  ta  levre  aride, 

Vibre  encore  et  luit? 
Ton  sein  est  sans  lait,  ton  oreille  est  vide, 
Ton  oeil  plein  de  nuit. 

Ta  bouche  est  sans  souffle  et  ton  front  sans  ride  ; 
Mais  I'eclair  voile  d'une  flamme  humide, 
Flamme  eclose  au  coeur  d'un  ciel  pluvieux, 
Rallume  ta  levre  et  remplit  tes  yeux 

De  lueurs  d'opale ; 
Ta  bouche  est  vermeille  et  ton  front  joyeux, 

O  toi  qui  fus  pale. 

Comme  aux  jours  divins  la  mere  des  dieux, 
Reine  au  sein  fecond,  au  corps  radieux, 
Tu  surgis  au  bord  de  la  tombe  amere  ; 

175 


ODE 

Tu  nous  apparais,  6  Mort,  vierge  et  mere, 

ErtVoi  des  humains, 
Le  divin  laurier  sur  la  lete  altiere 

Et  la  Ivre  aux  mains. 

Nous  reconnaissons,  courbes  vers  la  terre, 
Que  c'est  la  splendeur  de  ta  face  austere 
Qiii  dore  la  nuit  de  nos  longs  malheurs  ; 
Qiie  la  vie  ailee  aux  mille  couleurs, 

Dont  tu  n'es  que  I'ame, 
Refait  par  tes  mains  les  pres  et  les  lleurs, 

La  rose  et  la  femme. 

Lune  constante  !   astre  ami  des  douleurs 
Qui  luis  a  travers  la  brume  des  pleurs  ! 
Quelle  flamme  au  fond  de  ta  clarte  molle 
Eclate  et  rougit,  nouvelle  aureole, 

Ton  doux  front  voile? 
Quelle  etoile,  ouvrant  ses  ailes,  s'envole 

Du  ciel  etoile? 

Pleurant  ce  rayon  de  jour  qu"on  lui  vole, 
L'iiomme  execre  en  vain  la  Mort  triste  et  folle 
Mais  I'astre  qui  fut  a  nos  yeux  si  beau, 
La-haut,  loin  d'ici,  dans  un  ciel  nouveau 

Plein  d'autres  etoiles, 
Se  leve,  et  pour  lui  la  nuit  du  tombcau 

Entr'ouvre  ses  voiles. 

176 


ODE 

L'ame  est  dans  le  corps  comme  un  jeune  oiseau 
Dont  I'aile  s'agite  au  bord  du  berceau  ; 
La  mort,  deliant  cette  aile  inquiete, 
Quand  nous  ecoutons  la  bouche  muette 

Qui  nous  dit  adieu, 
Fait  de  I'homme  infime  et  sombre  un  poete, 

Du  poete  un  dieu. 


177 


IN     OBITUM     THEOPHILI    POET^ 


OLUX  Pieridum  et  laurigeri  deliciae  del, 
Vox  leni  Zephyro  lenior,  ut  veris  amans  novi 
Tollit  floridulis  implicitum  primitiis  caput, 
Ten'  ergo  abripuit  non  rediturum,  ut  redeunt  novo 
Flores  vere  novi,  te  quoque  mors  irrevocabilem? 
Cur  vatem  neque  te  Musa  parens,  te  neque  Gratiic, 
Nee  servare  sibi  te  potuit  fidum  animi  Venus? 
Qj,ue  nunc  ipsa  magis  vel  puero  te  Cinyreio, 
Te  desiderium  et  flebilibus  lumen  amoribus, 
Amissum  queritur,  sanguineis  lusa  comam  genis. 
Tantis  tu  lacrymis  digne,  comes  dulcis  Apollini, 
Carum  nomen  eris  dis  superis  atque  sodalibus 
Nobis,  quis  eadem  quas  tibi  vivo  patuit  via 
Non  asquispatet,  at  te  sequimur  passibus  hand  tuis, 
At  ma^sto  cinerem  carmine  non  illacrymabilem 
Tristesque  exuvias  floribus  ac  fletibus  integris 
Una  contegimus,  nee  cithara  nee  sine  tibia, 
Votoque  unanima.^  vocis  Ave  dicimus  et  Vale. 


178 


AD    CATULLUM 


CATULLE  frater,  ut  velim  comes  tibi 
Remota  per  vireta,  per  cavum  nemus 
Sacrumque  Ditis  haud  inhospiti  specus, 
Pedem  referre,  trans  aquam  Stygis  ducem 
Secutus  iinum  et  unicum  Catulle,  te, 
Ut  ora  vatis  optimi  reviserem, 
Tui  meique  vatis  ora,  quern  scio 
Venustiorem  adisse  vel  tuo  lacum, 
Benigniora  semper  arva  vel  tuis, 
Ubi  serenus  accipit  suos  deus, 
Tegitque  myrtus  implicata  laurea, 
Manuque  mulcet  halituque  consecrat 
Fovetque  blanda  mors  amabili  sinu, 
Et  ore  fama  fervido  colit  viros 
Alitque  qualis  unus  ille  par  tibi 
Britannus  unicusque  in  orbe  pra;stitit 
Amicus  ille  noster,  ille  ceteris 
Poeta  major,  omnibusque  iloribus 
Priore  Landor  inclytum  rosa  caput 
Revinxit  extulitque,  quam  tua  manu 
Recepit  ac  refovit  integram  sua. 


179 


DEDICATION 

1878 


SOME  nine  years  gone,  as  we  dwelt  together 
In  the  sweet  hushed  heat  of  the  south  French  weather 
Ere  autumn  fell  on  the  vine-tressed  hills 
Or  the  season  had  shed  one  rose-red  feather, 

Friend,  whose  fame  is  a  flame  that  fills 
All  eyes  it  lightens  and  hearts  it  thrills 

With  joy  to  be  born  of  the  blood  which  bred 
From  a  land  that  the  grey  sea  girds  and  chills 

The  heart  and  spirit  and  hand  and  head 
Whose  might  is  as  light  on  a  dark  day  shed, 
On  a  day  now  dark  as  a  land's  decline 
Where  all  the  peers  of  your  praise  are  dead, 

In  a  land  and  season  of  corn  and  vine 

I  pledged  3'ou  a  hea^lth  from  a  beaker  of  mine 

But  half-way  filled  to  the  lip's  edge  yet 
With  hope  for  honey  and  song  for  wine. 

181 


DEDICATION 

Nine  years  have  risen  and  eight  years  set 

Since  there  by  the  wellspring  our  hands  on  it  met : 

And  the  pledge  of  my  songs  that  were  then  to  be, 
I  could  wonder  not,  friend,  though  a  friend  should  forget. 

For  life's  helm  rocks  to  the  windward  and  lee, 
And  time  is  as  wind,  and  as  waves  are  we ; 

And  song  is  as  foam  that  the  sea-winds  fret. 
Though  the  thought  at  its  heart  should  be  deep  as  the  sea. 


182 


POEMS    AND    BALLADS 
THIRD   SERIES 


WILLIAM    BELL    SCOTT 

POET    AND    PAINTER 

I    DEDICATE    THESE    POEMS 

IX     MEMORY     OF     MANY     YEARS 


MARCH:    AN    ODE 
1887 


ERE  frost-flower  and  snow-blossom  faded  and  fell,  and 
the  splendour  of  winter  had  passed  out  of  sight, 
The  ways  of  the  woodlands  were  fairer  and  stranger  than 

dreams  that  fulfil  us  in  sleep  with  delight ; 
The  breath  of  the  mouths  of  the  winds  had  hardened  on 

tree-tops  and  branches  that  glittered  and  swayed 
Such  wonders  and  glories  of  blossomlike  snow  or  of  frost 

that  outlightens  all  flowers  till  it  fade 
That  the  sea  was  not  lovelier  than  here  was  the  land,  nor 

the  night  than  the  day,  nor  the  day  than  the  night, 
Nor  the  winter  sublimer  with  storm  than  the  spring  :  such 

mirth  had  the  madness  and  might  in  thee  made, 
March,  master  of  winds,  bright  minstrel  and  marshal  of 

storms  that  enkindle  the  season  they  smite. 


II 

And   now  that  the  rage  of  thy   rapture  is  satiate  with 
revel  and  ravin  and  spoil  of  the  snow, 

187 


MARCH:    AN    ODE 

And  the  branches  it  brightened  are  broken,  and  shattered 

tlie  tree-tops  that  only  thy  wrath  could  lay  low, 
How  should  not  thy  lovers  rejoice  in  thee,  leader  and 

lord  of  the  year  that  exults  to  be  born 
So  strong  in  thy  strength  and  so  glad  of  thy  gladness 

whose  laughter  puts  winter  and  sorrow  to  scorn? 
Thou  hast  shaken  the  snows  from  thy  wings,  and  the 

frost  on  thy  forehead  is  molten  :  thy  lips  are  aglow 
As  a  lover's  that  kindle  with  kissing,  and  earth,  with  her 

raiment  and  tresses  yet  wasted  and  torn. 
Takes  breath  as  she  smiles  in  the  grasp  of  thy  passion  to 

feel  through  her  spirit  the  sense  of  thee  flow. 

Ill 

Fain,  fain  would  we  see  but  again  for  an  hour  what  the 

wind  and  the  sun  have  dispelled  and  consumed. 
Those  full  deep  swan-soft  feathers  of  snow  with  whose 

luminous  burden  the  branches  implumed 
Hung  heavily,  curved  as  a  half-bent  bow,  and  fledged 

not  as  birds  are,  but  petalled  as  flowers. 
Each  tree-top  and  branchlet   a  pinnacle  jewelled   and 

carved,  or  a  fountain  that  shines  as  it  showers. 
But  fixed  as  a  fountain  is  fixed  not,  and  wrought  not  to 

last  till  by  time  or  by  tempest  entombed, 
As  a  pinnacle  carven  and  gilded  of  men  :  for  the  date  of 

its  doom  is  no  more  than  an  hour's. 
One  hour  of  the  sun's  when  the  warm  wind  wakes  him  to 

wither  the  snow-flowers  that  froze  as  they  bloomed. 

i88 


MARCH:    AN   ODE 


IV 


As  the  sunshine  quenches  the  snowshine  ;  as  April  sub- 
dues thee,  and  yields  up  his  kingdom  to  May  ; 

So  time  overcomes  the  regret  that  is  born  of  delight  as 
it  passes  in  passion  away, 

And  leaves  but  a  dream  for  desire  to  rejoice  in  or  mourn 
for  with  tears  or  thanksgivings  ;  but  thou, 

Bright  god  that  art  gone  from  us,  maddest  and  gladdest 
of  months,  to  what  goal  hast  thou  gone  from  us  now  ? 

For  somewhere  surely  the  storm  of  thy  laughter  that 
lightens,  the  beat  of  thy  wings  that  play. 

Must  flame  as  a  fire  through  the  world,  and  the  heavens 
that  we  know  not  rejoice  in  thee  :   surely  thy  brow 

Hath  lost  not  its  radiance  of  empire,  thy  spirit  the  joy 
that  impelled  it  on  quest  as  for  prey. 


Are  thy  feet  on  the  ways  of  the  limitless  waters,   thy 

wings  on  the  winds  of  the  waste  north  sea? 
Are  the  fires  of  the  false  north  dawn  over  heavens  where 

summer  is  stormful  and  strong  like  thee 
Now  bright  in  the  sight  of  thine  eyes?  are  the  bastions 

of  icebergs  assailed  by  the  blast  of  thy  breath? 
Is  it  March  with  the  wild  north  world  when  April    is 

waning?  the  word  that  the  changed  year  saith, 
Is  it  echoed  to  northward  with  rapture  of  passion  reiterate 

from  spirits  triumphant  as  we 


189 


MARCH:    AN    ODE 

Whose  hearts  were  uplift  at  the  blast  of  thy  clarions  as 
men's  rearisen  from  a  sleep  that  was  death 

And  kindled  to  life  that  was  one  with  the  world's  and  with 
ihine?  hast  thou  set  not  the  whole  world  free? 

VI 

For  the  breath  of  thy  lips  is  freedom,  and  freedom's  the 
sense  of  thy  spirit,  the  sound  of  thy  song, 

Glad  god  of  the  north-east  wind,  whose  heart  is  as  high 
as  the  hands  of  thy  kingdom  are  strong, 

Thy  kingdom  whose  empire  is  terror  and  joy,  twin- 
featured  and  fruitful  of  births  divine, 

Days  lit  with  the  flame  of  the  lamps  of  the  flowers,  and 
nights  that  are  drunken  with  dew  for  wine, 

And  sleep  not  for  joy  of  the  stars  that  deepen  and 
quicken,  a  denser  and  fierier  throng, 

And  the  world  that  thy  breath  bade  whiten  and  tremble 
rejoices  at  heart  as  they  strengthen  and  shine, 

And  earth  gives  thanks  for  the  glory  bequeathed  her, 
and  knows  of  thy  reign  that  it  wrought  not  wrong. 

VII 

Thy  spirit  is  quenched  not,  albeit  we  behold  not  thy  face 

in  the  crown  of  the  steep  sky's  arch, 
And  tile  bold  first  buds  of  the  whin  wax  golden,  and 

witness  arise  of  the  thorn  and  the  larch  : 
Wild  April,  enkindled  to  laughter  and  storm  by  the  kiss 

of  the  wildest  of  winds  that  blow, 

190 


MARCH:    AN   ODE 

Calls   loud  on  his  brother  for  witness  ;   his  hands  that 

were  laden  with  blossom  are  sprinkled  with  snow, 
And  his  lips  breathe  winter,  and  laugh,  and  relent ;   and 

the  live  woods  feel  not  the  frost's  flame  parch  ; 
For   the    flame   of  the    spring    that  consumes  not   but 

quickens  is  felt  at  the  heart  of  the  forest  aglow, 
And  the  sparks  that  enkindled  and  fed  it  were  strewn 

from  the  hands  of  the  gods  of  the  winds  of  March. 


191 


THE    COMMONWEAL 

1887 


EIGHT  hundred  years  and  twenty-one 
Have  shone  and  sunken  since  the  land 
Whose  name  is  freedom  bore  such  brand 
As  marks  a  captive,  and  the  sun 
Beheld  her  fettered  hand. 


II 

But  ere  dark  time  had  shed  as  rain 
Or  sown  on  sterile  earth  as  seed 
That  bears  no  fruit  save  tare  and  weed 

An  age  and  half  an  age  again, 
She  rose  on  Runnymede. 

Ill 

Out  of  the  shadow,  starlike  still. 
She  rose  up  radiant  in  her  right, 
And  spake,  and  put  to  fear  and  iliglit 

The  lawless  rule  of  awless  will 
That  pleads  no  right  save  might. 

192 


THE   COMMONWEAL 

IV 

Nor  since  hath  England  ever  borne 
The  burden  laid  on  subject  lands, 
The  rule  that  curbs  and  binds  all  hands 

Save  one,  and  marks  for  servile  scorn 
The  heads  it  bows  and  brands. 


A  commonweal  arrayed  and  crowned 
With  gold  and  purple,  girt  with  steel 
At  need,  that  foes  must  fear  or  feel, 

We  find  her,  as  our  fathers  found, 
Earth's  lordliest  commonweal. 

VI 

And  now  that  fifty  years  are  flown 
Since  in  a  maiden's  hand  the  sign 
Of  empire  that  no  seas  confine 

First  as  a  star  to  seaward  shone, 
We  see  their  record  shine. 

VII 

A  troubled  record,  foul  and  fair, 

A  simple  record  and  serene. 

Inscribes  for  praise  a  blameless  queen. 
For  praise  and  blame  an  age  of  care 

And  chanije  and  ends  unseen. 

193 


THE   COMMONWEAL 


VIII 


Hope,  wide  of  eye  and  wild  of  wing, 

Rose  with  the  sundawn  of  a  reign 

Whose  grace  should  make  the  rough  w^ays  plain, 
And  fill  the  worn  old  world  with  spring. 

And  heal  its  heart  of  pain. 

IX 

Peace  was  to  be  on  earth  ;   men's  hope 
Was  holier  than  their  fathers  had, 
Their  wisdom  not  more  wise  than  glad  : 

They  saw  the  gates  of  promise  ope. 
And  heard  what  love's  lips  bade. 


Love  armed  with  knowledge,  winged  and  wise, 
Should  hush  the  wind  of  war,  and  see, 
They  said,  the  sun  of  days  to  be 

Bring  round  beneath  serener  skies 
A  stormless  jubilee. 

XI 

Time,  in  the  darkness  unbeholden 
That  hides  him  from  the  sight  of  fear 
And  lets  but  dreaming  hope  draw  near. 

Smiled  and  was  sad  to  hear  such  golden 
Strains  hail  the  all-golden  year. 

194 


THE   COMMONWEAL 

N 

XII 

Strange  clouds  have  risen  between,  and  wild 
Red  stars  of  storm  that  lit  the  abyss 
Wherein  fierce  fraud  and  violence  kiss 

And  mock  such  promise  as  beguiled 
The  fiftieth  year  from  this. 

XIII 

War  upon  war,  change  after  change, 
Hath  shaken  thrones  and  tow^ers  to  dust. 
And  hopes  austere  and  faiths  august 

Have  watched  in  patience  stern  and  strange 
Men's  works  unjust  and  just. 

XIV 

As  from  some  Alpine  watch-tower's  portal 
Night,  living  yet,  looks  forth  for  dawn, 
So  from  time's  mistier  mountain  lawn 

The  spirit  of  man,  in  trust  immortal, 
Yearns  toward  a  hope  withdrawn. 

XV 

The  morning  comes  not,  yet  the  night 

Wanes,  and  men's  eyes  win  strength  to  see 
Where  twilight  is,  where  light  shall  be 

When  conquered  wrong  and  conquering  right 
Acclaim  a  world  set  free.  • 

195 


rili:    COMMONWEAL 

XVI 

Calm  as  our  mother-land,  the  mother 
Of  faith  and  freedom,  pure  and  wise, 
Keeps  watch  bencatli  unchangeful  skies, 

When  hath  she  watched  the  woes  of  other 
Strange  lands  with  alien  eyes? 

XVII 

Calm  as  she  stands  alone,  what  nation 

I  lath  lacked  an  alms  from  En<{lish  hands? 
What  exiles  from  what  stricken  lands 

Have  lacked  the  shelter  of  the  station 
Where  higher  than  all  she  stands? 

XVIII 

Though  time  discrown  and  change  dismantle 
The  pride  of  thrones  and  towers  that  frown, 
How  should  they  bring  her  glories  down  — 

The  sea  cast  round  her  like  a  mantle. 
The  sea-cloud  like  a  crown? 

XIX 

The  sea,  divine  as  heaven  and  deathless. 
Is  hers,  and  none  but  only  she 
Hath  learnt  the  sea's  word,  none  but  we 

Her  children  hear  in  heart  the  breathless 
Bright  watchword  of  the  sea. 

196 


THE   COMMONWEAL 

XX 

Heard  not  of  others,  or  misheard 
Of  many  a  land  for  many  a  year, 
The  watchword  Freedom  fails  not  here 

Of  hearts  that  witness  if  the  word 
Find  faith  in  England's  ear. 

XXI 

She,  first  to  love  the  light,  and  daughter 

Incarnate  of  the  northern  dawn, 

She,  round  whose  feet  the  wild  waves  fawn 
When  all  their  wrath  of  warring  water 

Sounds  like  a  babe's  breath  drawn, 

XXII 

How  should  not  she  best  know,  love  best, 
And  best  of  all  souls  understand 
The  very  soul  of  freedom,  scanned 

Far  off,  sought  out  in  darkling  quest 
By  men  at  heart  unmanned? 

XXIII 

They  climb  and  fall,  ensnared,  enshrouded. 
By  mists  of  words  and  toils  they  set 
To  take  themselves,  till  fierce  regret 

Grows  mad  with  shame,  and  all  their  clouded 
Red  skies  hang  sunless  yet. 

197 


THE   COMMONWEAL 


XXIV 

But  us  the  sun,  not  wholl}'  risen 

Nor  equal  now  for  all,  illumes 

With  more  of  light  than  cloud  that  looms ; 
Of  light  that  leads  forth  souls  from  prison 

And  breaks  the  seals  of  tombs. 

XXV 

Did  not  her  breasts  who  reared  us  rear 

Him  who  took  heaven  in  hand,  and  weighed 
Brifiht  world  with  world  in  balance  laid? 

What  Newton's  might  could  make  not  clear 
Hath  Darwin's  mifrht  not  made? 

XXVI 

The  forces  of  the  dark  dissolve. 

The  doorways  of  the  dark  are  broken  : 
The  word  that  casts  out  night  is  spoken. 

And  whence  the  springs  of  things  evolve 
Li(jht  born  of  nirjht  bears  token. 

XXVII 

She,  loving  light  for  light's  sake  onl}-, 
And  truth  for  only  truth's,  and  song 
For  song's  sake  and  the  sea's,  how  long 

Hath  she  not  borne  the  world  her  lonely 
Witness  of  right  and  wrong? 

198 


THE   COMMONWEAL 

XXVIII 

From  light  to  light  her  eyes  imperial 
Turn,  and  require  the  further  light, 
More  perfect  than  the  sun's  in  sight, 

Till  star  and  sun  seem  all  funereal 
Lamps  of  the  vaulted  night. 

XXIX 

She  gazes  till  the  strenuous  soul 

Within  the  rapture  of  her  eyes 

Creates  or  bids  awake,  arise. 
The  light  she  looks  for,  pure  and  whole 

And  worshipped  of  the  wise. 

XXX 

Such  sons  are  hers,  such  radiant  hands 
Have  borne  abroad  her  lamp  of  old, 
Such  mouths  of  honey-dropping  gold 

Have  sent  across  all  seas  and  lands 
Her  fame  as  music  rolled. 

XXXI 

As  music  made  of  rolling  thunder 

That  hurls  through  heaven  its  heart  sublime, 
Its  heart  of  joy,  in  charging  chime, 

So  ring  the  songs  that  round  and  under 
Her  temple  surge  and  climb. 

199 


THE   COMMONWEAL 

XXXII 

A  temple  not  by  men's  hands  builded, 
But  moulded  of  the  spirit,  and  wrought 
Of  passion  and  imperious  thought ; 

With  light  beyond  all  sunlight  gilded, 
Whereby  the  sun  seems  nought. 

XXXIII 

Thy  shrine,  our  mother,  seen  for  fairer 
Than  even  thy  natural  face,  made  fair 
With  kisses  of  thine  April  air 

Even  now,  when  spring  thy  banner-bearer 
Took  up  thy  sign  to  bear ; 

XXXIV 

Thine  annual  sign  from  heaven's  own  arch 
Given  of  the  sun's  hand  into  thine, 
To  rear  and  cheer  each  vvildwood  shrine 

But  now  laid  waste  by  wild-winged  March, 
Marcli,  mad  with  wind  like  wine. 

XXXV 

From  all  thy  brightening  downs  whereon 
The  windy  seaward  whin-flower  shows 
Blossom  whose  pride  strikes  pale  the  rose 

Forth  is  the  golden  watchword  gone 
Whert-at  the  world's  face  trlows. 


200 


THE  COMMONWEAL 

XXXVI 

Thy  quickening  woods  rejoice  and  ring 
Till  earth  seems  glorious  as  the  sea  : 
With  yearning  love  too  glad  for  glee 

The  world's  heart  quivers  toward  the  spring 
As  all  our  hearts  toward  thee. 

XXXVII 

Thee,  mother,  thee,  our  queen,  who  givest 
Assurance  to  the  heavens  most  high 
And  earth  whereon  her  bondsmen  sigh 

That  by  the  sea's  grace  while  thou  livest 
Hope  shall  not  wholly  die. 

XXXVIII 

That  while  thy  free  folk  hold  the  van 
Of  all  men,  and  the  sea-spray  shed 
As  dew  more  heavenly  on  thy  head 

Keeps  bright  thy  face  in  sight  of  man, 
Man's  pride  shall  drop  not  dead. 

XXXIX 

A  pride  more  pure  than  humblest  prayer, 
More  wise  than  wisdom  born  of  doubt, 
Girds  for  thy  sake  men's  hearts  about 

With  trust  and  triumph  that  despair 
And  fear  may  cast  not  out. 

20I 


THE   COMMONWEAL 

XL 

Despair  may  wring  men's  hearts,  and  fear 
Bow  down  their  heads  to  kiss  the  dust, 
Where  patriot  memories  rot  and  rust, 

And  chanixe  makes  faint  a  nation's  cheer, 
And  faith  3nelds  up  her  trust. 

XLI 

Not  here  this  year  have  true  men  known, 
Not  here  this  year  may  true  men  know, 
That  brand  of  shame-compelling  woe 

Which  bids  but  brave  men  shrink  or  groan 
And  lays  but  honour  low^ 

XLII 

The  strong  spring  wind  blows  notes  of  praise. 
And  hallowing  pride  of  heart,  and  cheer 
Unchanging,  toward  all  true  men  here 

Who  hold  the  trust  of  ancient  days 
High  as  of  old  this  year. 

XLIII 

The  days  that  made  thee  great  are  dead ; 

The  days  that  now  must  keep  thee  great 

Lie  not  in  keeping  of  thy  fate  ; 
In  thine  they  lie,  whose  heart  and  head 

Sustain  th}^  charge  of  state 

202 


THE   COMMONWEAL 

XLIV 

No  state  so  proud,  no  pride  so  just, 

The  sun,  through  clouds  at  sunrise  curled 
Or  clouds  across  the  sunset  whirled, 

Hath  sight  of,  nor  has  man  such  trust 
As  thine  in  all  the  world. 

XLV 

Each  hour  that  sees  the  sunset's  crest 
Make  bright  th}-  shores  ere  day  decline 
Sees  dawn  the  sun  on  shores  of  thine, 

Sees  west  as  east  and  east  as  west 
On  thee  their  sovereign  shine. 

XLVI 

The  sea's  own  heart  must  needs  wax  proud 
To  have  borne  the  world  a  child  like  thee. 
What  birth  of  earth  might  ever  be 

Thy  sister?     Time,  a  wandering  cloud. 
Is  sunshine  on  thy  sea. 

XLVI  I 

Change  mars  not  her  ;  and  thee,  our  mother. 
What  change  that  irks  or  moves  thee  mars? 
What  shock  that  shakes?  what  chance  that  jars? 

Time  gave  thee,  as  he  gave  none  other, 
A  station  like  a  star's. 

203 


THE   COMMONWEAL 


XLVIII 

The  storm  that  shrieks,  the  wind  that  wages 
War  with  the  wings  of  hopes  that  climb 
Too  high  toward  heaven  in  doubt  sublime, 

Assail  not  thee,  approved  of  ages 
The  towering  crown  of  time. 

XLIX 

Toward  thee  this  year  thy  children  turning 
With  souls  uplift  of  changeless  cheer 
Salute  with  love  that  casts  out  fear, 

With  hearts  for  beacons  round  thee  burning, 
The  token  of  this  year. 


With  just  and  sacred  jubilation 
Let  earth  sound  answer  to  the  sea 
For  witness,  blown  on  winds  as  free, 

How  England,  how  her  crowning  nation, 
Acclaims  this  jubilee. 


204 


THE    ARMADA 

1588:  1888 
I 


ENGLAND,  mother  born  of  seamen,  daughter  fostered 
of  the  sea, 
Mother  more   beloved  than    all  who  bear  not  all    their 
children  free, 
Reared  and  nursed  and  crowned  and  cherished  by  the 

sea-wind  and  the  sun. 
Sweetest   land    and    strongest,    face    most    fair    and 
mightiest  heart  in  one. 
Stands  not  higher  than  when  the  centuries  known  of 
earth  were  less  by  three. 
When  the  strength  that  struck  the  whole  world  pale 
fell  back  from  hers  undone. 

II 

At  her  feet  were  the  heads  of  her  foes  bowed  down,  and 
the  strengths  of  the  storm  of  them  stayed. 

And  the  hearts  that  were  touched  not  with  mercy  with 
terror  were  touched  and  amazed  and  affrayed  : 

205 


THE   ARMADA 

Yea,  hearts  that  had  never  been  molten  with  pity  were 
molten  with  fear  as  with  flame, 
And  the  priests  of  the  Godhead  whose  temple  is  hell, 

and  his  heart  is  of  iron  and  fire, 
And  the  swordsmen  that  served  and  the   seamen  that 
sped  them,  whom  peril  could  tame  not  or  tire, 
Were  as  foam  on  the  winds  of  the  w^aters  of  England 
w'hich  tempest  can  tire  not  or  tame. 


Ill 


They  were  girded   about  with   thunder,   and  lightning 

came  forth  of  the  rage  of  their  strength. 
And  the  measure  that  measures  the  wings  of  the  storm 

was  the  breadth  of  their  force  and  the  length  : 
And  the  name  of  their  might  was  Invincible,  covered  and 

clothed  with  the  terror  of  God  ; 
With  his  wrath  were  they  winged,  with  his  love  were 

they  fired,  with  the  speed  of  his  winds  were  they 

shod  ; 
With  his  soul  were  they  filled,  in  his  trust  were  they 

comforted  :  grace  was  upon  them  as  night, 
And  faith  as  the  blackness  of  darkness  :   the  fume  of 

their  balefires  was  fair  in  his  sight. 
The  reek  of  them  sweet  as  a  savour  of  mvrrh  in  his 

nostrils :  the  world  that  he  made. 
Theirs  was  it  by  gift  of  his  servants  :  the  wind,  if  they 

spake  in  his  name,  was  afraid, 

206 


THE   ARMADA 

And  the  sun  was  a  shadow  before   it,  the  stars   were 

astonished  with  fear  of  it :  fire 
Went  up  to  them,  fed  with  men  living,  and  lit  of  men's 

hands  for  a  shrine  or  a  pyre ; 
And  the  east  and  the  west  wind  scattered  their  ashes 

abroad,  that  his  name  should  be  blest 
Of  the  tribes  of  the  chosen  whose  blessings  are  curses 

from  uttermost  east  unto  west. 


207 


THE   ARMADA 


II 


Ilell  for  Spain,  and  heaven  for  England,  —  God  to  God, 

and  man  to  man, — 
Met  confronted,  light  with  darkness,  life  with  death  : 
since  time  began, 
Never  earth  nor  sea  beheld  so  great  a  stake  before 

them  set, 
Save  when  Athens  hurled  back  Asia  from  the  lists 
wherein  they  met ; 
Never  since   the   sands   of  ages  through   the   glass  of 
history  ran 
Saw  the  sun  in  heaven  a  lordlier  day  than  this  that 
lights  us  yet. 

II 

For  the  light  that  abides  upon  England,  the  glory  that 

rests  on  her  godlike  name. 
The   pride   that   is   love   and   the   love   that   is   faith,    a 

perfume  dissolved  in  flame, 
Took  fire  from  the  dawn  of  the  fierce  July  when  fleets 

were  scattered  as  foam 
And  squadrons  as  flakes  of  spra}' ;  when  galleon  and 

galliass  that  shadowed  the  sea 
Were  swept  from  her  waves  like  shadows  that  pass  with 

tlie  clouds  tliey  fell  from,  and  she 

208 


THE   ARMADA 

Laughed  loud  to  the  wind  as  it  gave  to  her  keeping 
the  glories  of  Spain  and  Rome. 


Ill 

Three  hundred  summers  have  fallen  as  leaves  by  the 

storms  in  their  season  thinned, 
Since  northward  the  war-ships  of  Spain  came  sheer  up 

the  way  of  the  south-west  wind  : 
Where  the   citadel  cliffs  of  England  are  flanked  with 

bastions  of  serpentine, 
Far  off  to  the  windward  loomed  their  hulls,  an  hundred 

and  twenty-nine, 
All  filled  full  of  the    war,  full-fraught  with  battle   and 

charged  with  bale  ; 
Then  store-ships  weighted  with  cannon  ;   and  all  were  an 

hundred  and  fifty  sail. 
The  measureless  menace  of  darkness  anhungered  with- 

hope  to  prevail  upon  light, 
The  shadow  of  death  made  substance,  the  present  and 

visible  spirit  of  night, 
Came,  shaped  as  a  waxing  or  waning  moon  that  rose 

with  the  fall  of  day, 
To  the  channel  where  couches  the  Lion  in  guard  of  the 

gate  of  the  lustrous  bay. 
Fair  England,  sweet  as  the  sea  that  shields  her,  and  pure 

as  the  sea  from  stain. 
Smiled,    hearing  hardly  for  scorn  that  stirred  her  the 

menace  of  saintly  Spain.  , 

209 


THE   ARMADA 


III 


'  They  that  ride  over  ocean  wide  with  hempen  bridle  and 
horse  of  tree,' 

How  shall  they  in  the  darkening  day  of  wrath  and  an- 
guish and  fear  go  free? 

How  shall  these  that  have  curbed  the  seas  not  feel  his 
bridle  who  made  the  sea? 

God  shall  bow  them  and  break  them  now  :  for  what  is 

man  in  the  Lord  God's  sight? 
Fear  shall  shake  them,  and  shame  shall  break,  and  all 

the  noon  of  their  pride  be  night: 
These  that  sinned  shall  the  ravening  wind  of  doom  bring 

under,  and  judgment  smite. 

England  broke  from  her  neck  the  yoke,  and  rent  the 

fetter,  and  mocked  the  rod  : 
Shrines  of  old  that  she  decked  with  gold  she  turned  to 

dust,  to  the  dust  she  trod : 
What  is  she,  that  the  wind  and  sea  should  fight  beside 

her,  and  war  with  God? 

Lo,  the  cloud  of  his  ships  that  crowd  her  channel's  inlet 
with  storm  sublime, 

2IO 


THE   ARMADA 

Darker  far  than  the  tempests  are  that  sweep  the  skies  of 
,  her  northmost  clime  ; 

Huge  and  dense  as  the  walls  that  fence  the  secret  dark- 
ness of  unknown  time- 
Mast  on  mast  as  a  tower  goes  past,  and  sail  by  sail  as  a 

cloud's  wing  spread  ; 
Fleet  by  fleet,  as  the  throngs  whose  feet  keep  time  with 

death  in  his  dance  of  dread  ; 
Galleons  dark  as  the  helmsman's  bark  of  old  that  ferried 
to  hell  the  dead. 

Squadrons  proud  as  their  lords,  and  loud  with  tramp  of 

soldiers  and  chant  of  priests  ; 
Slaves  there  told  by  the  thousandfold,    made    fast    in 

bondage  as  herded  beasts  ; 
Lords  and  slaves  that  the  sw^eet  free  waves  shall  feed 

on,  satiate  with  funeral  feasts. 

Nay,  not  so  shall  it  be,  they  know  ;  their  priests  have 

said  it;   can  priesthood  lie? 
God  shall  keep  them,  their  God  shall  sleep  not :  peril 

and  evil  shall  pass  them  by  : 
Nay,  for  these  are  his  children  ;  seas  and  winds  shall 

bid  not  his  children  die. 

II 

So  they  boast  them,  the  monstrous  host  whose  menace 
mocks  at  the  dawn  :   and  here 

211 


THE   ARMADA 

They  that  wait  at  the  wild  sea's  J^ate,  and  watch  the 

darkness  of  doom  draw  near, 
How  shall  they  in  their  evil  day  sustain  the  strength  of 

their  hearts  for  tear? 

Full  Julv  in  the  fervent  sky  sets  forth  her  twentieth  of 

chano[in(T  morns  : 
Winds  fall  mild   that  of  late  waxed  wild  :   no  presage 

whispers  or  wails  or  warns  : 
Far  to  west  on  the  bland  sea's  breast  a  sailing  crescent 

uprears  her  horns. 

Seven  wide  miles  the  serene  sea  smiles  between  them 

stretching  from  rim  to  rim  : 
Soft  they  shine,  but  a  darker  sign  should  bid  not  hope 

or  belief  wax  dim  : 
God's  are  these  men,  and  not  the  sea's  :  their  trust  is  set 

not  on  her  but  him. 

God's?  but  who  is  the  God  whereto   the  prayers   and 

incense  of  these  men  rise? 
What  is  he,  that  the  wind   and  sea  should  fear  him, 

quelled  by  his  sunbright  eyes? 
What,  that  men  should  return  again,  and  hail  him  Lord 

of  the  servile  skies? 

Hell's  own  flame  at  his  heavenly  name  leaps  higher  and 

laughs,  and  its  gulfs  rejoice  : 
Plague  and  death  from  his  baneful  breath  take  life   and 

lighten,  and  praise  his  choice  : 

212 


THE   ARMADA 

Chosen  are  they  to  devour  for  prey  the  tribes  that  hear 
not  and  fear  his  voice. 

Ay,  but  we  that  the  wind  and  sea  gird  round  with  shel- 
ter of  storms  and  waves 

Know  not  him  that  ye  worship,  grim  as  dreams  that 
quicken  from  dead  men's  graves  : 

God  is  one  with  the  sea,  the  sun,  the  hmd  that  nursed 
us,  the  love  that  saves. 

Love  whose  heart  is  in  ours,  and  part  of  all  things  noble 

and  all  things  fair ; 
Sweet  and  free  as  the  circling  sea,  sublime  and  kind  as 

the  fostering  air ; 
Pure  of  shame  as  is  England's  name,  whose  crowns  to 

come  are  as  crowns  that  were. 


213 


THE   ARMADA 


IV 


But  the   Lord  of  darkness,   the  God    whose  love   is  a 

flaming  fire, 
The  master  whose  mercy  fulfils  wide  hell  till  its  torturers 

tire. 
He  shall  surely  have  heed  of  his  servants  who  serve 

him  for  love,  not  hire. 

The}'  shall  fetter  the  wing  of  the  wind  w^hose  pinions 

are  plumed  with  foam  : 
For  now^  shall  thy  horn  be  exalted,  and  now  shall  thy 

bolt  strike  home  ; 
Yea,  now  shall  thy  kingdom  come,  Lord  God  of  the 

priests  of  Rome. 

They  shall  cast  thy  curb  on  the  waters,  and  bridle  the 

waves  of  the  sea  : 
They  shall  say  to  her,  Peace,  be  still :  and  stillness  and 

peace  shall  be  : 
And   the    winds  and  the   storms  shall   hear  them,   and 

tremble,  and  worship  thee. 

Thy  breath   shall   darken   the   morning,  and  wither  the 
mounting  sun  ; 

2 1. 1 


THE   ARMADA 

And  the  dayspriiigs,  frozen   and  fettered,  shall  know 

thee,  and  cease  to  run  ; 
The  heart  of  the  world  shall  feel  thee,  and  die,  and  thy 

will  be  done. 

The  spirit  of  man  that  would  sound  thee,  and  search 

out  causes  of  things, 
Shall  shrink  and  subside  and  praise  thee  ;  and  wisdom, 

with  plume-plucked  wings. 
Shall  cower  at  thy  feet  and  confess  thee,  that  none  may 

fathom  thy  springs. 

The  fountains  of  song  that  await  but  the  wind  of  an 

April  to  be 
To  burst  the  bonds  of  the  winter,  and  speak  with  the 

sound  of  a  sea. 
The   blast  of  thy  mouth   shall  quench  them  :  and  song 

shall  be  only  of  thee. 

The  days  that  are  dead  shall  quicken,  the  seasons  that 

were  shall  return  ; 
And  the  streets  and  the  pastures  of  England,  the  woods 

that  burgeon  and  yearn. 
Shall  be  whitened  with  ashes  of  women   and  children 

and  men  that  burn. 

For  the  mother  shall  burn  with  the  babe  sprung  forth  of 

her  w^omb  in  tire. 
And  bride   with  bridegroom,    and  brother  with   sister, 

and  son  with  sire  ; 

215 


THE   ARMADA 

And  the  noise  of  the  flames  shall  be  sweet  in  thine  ears 
as  the  sound  of  a  lyre. 

Vea,  so  shall   thy  kingdom  be  stablished,  and  so  shall 

the  sijjns  of  it  be  : 
And  the  world  shall  know,  and  the  wind  shall  speak, 

and  the  sun  shall  see, 
That  these  are  the  works  of  thy  servants,  whose  works 

bear  witness  to  thee. 


II 

But   the   dusk   of  the   day  falls   fruitless,    whose    light 

should  have  lit  them  on  : 
Sails  flash  through  the  gloom  to  shoreward,  eclipsed  as 

the  sun  that  shone  : 
And  the  west  wind  wakes  with  dawn,  and  the  hope  that 

was  here  is  gone. 

Around    they    wheel    and    around,    two  knots    to    the 

Spaniard's  one. 
The  wind-swift  warriors  of  England,  who  shoot  as  with 

shafts  of  the  sun. 
With  fourfold  shots  for  the  Spaniard's,  that  spare  not 

till  day  be  done. 

And  the  wind  with  the  sundown  sharpens,  and  hurtles 

the  ships  to  the  lee. 
And   Spaniard  on  Spaniard  smites,    and  shatters,   and 

yields  ;  and  we, 

2l6 


THE   ARMADA 

Ere  battle  begin,  stand  lords  of  the  battle,  acclaimed  of 
the  sea. 

And  the  day  sweeps  round  to  the  nightvvard  ;  and  heavy 

and  hard  the  waves 
Roll    in    on    the    herd    of  the    hurtling    galleons ;  and 

masters  and  slaves 
Reel  blind  in  the  grasp  of  the  dark  strong  wind  that 

shall  dig  their  graves. 

For  the  sepulchres  hollowed  and  shaped  of  the  wind  in 

the  swerve  of  the  seas, 
The    graves    that  gape    for  their    pasture,   and   laugh, 

thrilled  through  by  the  breeze. 
The  sweet  soft  merciless  waters,  await  and  are  fain  of 

these. 

As  the  hiss  of  a  Python  heaving  in  menace  of  doom 

to  be 
They  hear  through  the  clear  night  round  them,  whose 

hours  are  as  clouds  that  flee, 
The  whisper  of  tempest  sleeping,  the  heave  and  the  hiss 

of  the  sea. 

But  faith  is  theirs,  and  with  faith  arc  they  girded  and 

helmed  and  shod  : 
Invincible  are    they,  almighty,  elect  for  a  sword  and 

a  rod  ; 
Invincible    even  as   their   God   is   omnipotent,    infinite, 

God. 

217 


THE    ARMADA 

In  him  is  their  strength,  who  have  sworn  tliat  his  glory 

shall  wax  not  dim  : 
In  his  name  are  their  war-ships  hallowed  as  mightiest 

of  all  that  swim  : 
The  men  that  shall  cope  with  these,  and  conquer,  shall 

cast  out  him. 

In  him  is  the  trust  of  their  hearts  ;  the  desire  of  their 

eyes  is  he  ; 
The  light  of  their  ways,  made  lightning  for  men  that 

would  fain  be  free  : 
Earth's  hosts  are  with  them,  and  with  them  is  heaven: 

but  with  us  is  the  sea. 


218 


THE   ARMADA 


And  a  day  and  a  night  pass  over ; 

And  the  heart  of  their  chief  swells  hic-h  : 
For  England,  the  warrior,  the  rover, 

Whose  banners  on  all  winds  fly. 
Soul-stricken,  he  saith,  by  the  shadow  of  death,  holds  off 
him,  and  draws  not  nigh. 

And  the  wind  and  the  dawn  together 

Make  in  from  the  gleaming  east : 
And  fain  of  the  wild  glad  weather 

As  famine  is  fain  offcast, 
And  fain  of  the  fight,  forth  sweeps  in  its  might  the  host 
of  the  Lord's  high  priest. 

And  lightly  before  the  breeze 

The  ships  of  his  foes  take  wing  : 
Are  they  scattered,  the  lords  of  the  seas? 

Are  they  broken,  the  foes  of  the  king? 
And  ever  now  higher  as  a  mounting  fire  the  hopes  of 
the  Spaniard  spring. 

And  a  windless  night  comes  down  : 
And  a  breezeless  morning,  bright 

219 


THE   ARMADA 

Willi  promise  of  praise  to  crown 
The  close  of  the  crowning  fight, 
Leaps  up  as  the  foe's  heart  leaps,  and  glows  with   lus- 
trous rapture  of  light. 

And  stinted  of  gear  for  battle 

The  ships  of  the  sea's  folk  lie, 
Unwarlike,  herded  as  cattle, 

Six  miles  from  the  foeman's  eye 
That  fastens  as  flame  on  the  sight  of  them  tame  and 
offenceless,  and  ranged  as  to  die. 

Surely  the  souls  in  them  quail, 

They  are  stricken  and  withered  at  heart, 

When  in  on  them,  sail  by  sail. 
Fierce  marvels  of  monstrous  art, 
Tower  darkening  on    tower   till   the    sea-winds    cower 

crowds  down  as  to  hurl  them  apart. 

And  the  windless  weather  is  kindly, 

And  comforts  the  host  in  these  ; 
And  their  hearts  are  uplift  in  them  blindly. 

And  blindly  they  boast  at  ease 
That  the  next  day's  fight  shall  exalt  them,  and  smite 
with  destruction  the  lords  of  the  seas. 


II 


And  lightly  the  proud  hearts  prattle. 
And  lightly  the  dawn  draws  nigh, 

2  20 


THE   ARMADA 

The  dawn  of  the  doom  of  the  battle 
When  these  shall  falter  and  fly  ; 
No  day  more  great  in  the  roll  of  fate  filled  ever  with 
fire  the  sky. 

To  fightward  they  go  as  to  feastward, 
And  the  tempest  of  ships  that  drive 

Sets  eastward  ever  and  eastward, 
Till  closer  they  strain  and  strive  ; 
And  the  shots  that  rain  on  the  hulls  of  Spain  are  as 

thunders  afire  and  alive. 

And  about  them  the  blithe  sea  smiles 

And  flashes  to  windward  and  lee 
Round  capes  and  headlands  and  isles 

That  heed  not  if  war  there  be  ; 
Round  Sark,  round  Wight,  green  jewels  of  light  in  the 
ring  of  the  golden  sea. 

But  the  men  that  within  them  abide 

Are  stout  of  spirit  and  stark 
As  rocks  that  repel  the  tide. 

As  day  that  repels  the  dark ; 
And  the  light  bequeathed  from  their  swords  unsheathed 
shines  lineal  on  Wight  and  on  Sark. 

And  eastward  the  storm  sets  ever, 

The  storm  of  the  sails  that  strain 
And  follow  and  close  and  sever 

And  lose  and  return  and  gain  ; 

221 


THE   ARMADA 

And  English  thunder  divides  in  sunder  the  liolds  of  the 
ships  of  Spain. 

Southward  to  Calais,  appalled 

And  astonished,  the  vast  fleet  veers; 

And  the  skies  are  shrouded  and  palled, 
But  the  moonless  midnight  hears 
And    sees  how  swift  on  them   drive   and   drift  strange 

flames  that  the  darkness  fears. 

They  fly  through  the  night  from  shoreward, 

Heart-stricken  till  morning  break. 
And  ever  to  scourge  them  forward 

Drives  down  on  them  England's  Drake, 
And  hurls  them  in  as  they  hurtle  and  spin  and  stagger, 
with  storm  to  wake. 


222 


THE  ARMADA 


VI 


And  now  is  their  time  come  on  them.     For  eastward 

they  drift  and  reel, 
With  the  shallows  of  Flanders  ahead,  with  destruction 

and  havoc  at  heel, 
With  God  for  their  comfort  only,  the  God  whom  they 

serve ;   and  here 
Their  Lord,  of  his  great  loving-kindness,  may  revel  and 

make  good  cheer ; 
Though  ever  his  lips  wax  thirstier  with  drinking,  and 

hotter  the  lusts  in  him  swell ; 
For  he  feeds  the  thirst  that  consumes  him  with  blood, 

and  his  winepress  fumes  with  the  reek  of  hell. 

II 

Fierce  noon  beats  hard  on  the  battle  ;  the  galleons 
that  loom  to  the  lee 

Bow  down,  heel  over,  uplifting  their  shelterless 
hulls  from  the  sea  : 

From  scuppers  aspirt  with  blood,  from  guns  dis- 
mounted and  dumb. 

The  signs  of  the  doom  they  looked  for,  the  loud 
mute  witnesses  come. 

223 


THE   ARMADA 

Tlicy  press  with  sunset  to  seaward  for  comfort :   and 
shall  not  they  find  it  there? 
O  servants  of  God  most  high,  shall  his  winds  not  pass 
you  by,  and  his  waves  not  spare? 


Ill 

The  wings  of  the   south-west  wind    are  widened  ;   the 

breath  of  his  fervent  lips, 
More  keen  than  a  sword's  edge,  fiercer  than  fire,   falls 

full  on  the  plunging  ships. 
The  pilot  is  he  of  their  northward  flight,  their  stay  and 

their  steersman  he  ; 
A  helmsman  clothed  with  the  tempest,  and  girdled  with 

strength  to  constrain  the  sea. 
And  the  host  of  them  trembles  and  quails,  caught  fast 

in  his  hand  as  a  bird  in  the  toils  ; 
For  the  wrath  and  the  joy  that  fulfil  him  are  mightier 

than  man's,  w^hom  he  slays  and  spoils. 
And  vainly,  with  heart  divided  in  sunder,  and  labour  of 

wavering  will. 
The  lord  of  their  host  takes  counsel  with  hope  if  haply 

their  star  shine  still, 
If  haply  some  light  be  left  them  of  chance  to  renew  and 

redeem  the  fray  ; 
Rut  the  will  of  the   black   south-wester  is  lord  of  the 

councils  of  war  to-day. 
One  only  spirit  it  quells  not,  a  splendour  undarkened  of 

chance  or  time  ; 

224 


THE   ARMADA 

Be  the  praise  of  his  foes  with  Oquendo  for  ever,  a  name 

as  a  star  sublime. 
But  here  what  aid  in  a  hero's  heart,  what  help  in  his 

hand  may  be? 
For  ever  the  dark  wind  whitens  and  blackens  the  hollows 

and  heights  of  the  sea. 
And  galley  by  galley,  divided  and  desolate,  founders ; 

and  none  takes  heed, 
Nor  foe  nor  friend,  if  they  perish;  forlorn,  cast  off  in 

their  uttermost  need, 
They  sink  in  the  whelm  of  the  waters,  as  pebbles  by 

children  from  shoreward  hurled, 
In  the  North  Sea's  waters  that  end  not,  nor  know  they  a 

bourn  but  the  bourn  of  the  world. 
Past  many  a  secure  unavailable  harbour,  and  many  a 

loud  stream's  mouth. 
Past  Humber  and  Tees  and  Tyne  and  Tweed,  they  fly, 

scourged  on  from  the  south, 
And  torn  by  the  scourge  of  the  storm-wind  that  smites 

as  a  harper  smites  on  a  lyre, 
And  consumed  of  the  storm  as  the  sacrifice  loved  of  their 

God  is  consumed  with  fire. 
And  devoured  of  the  darkness  as  men  that  are  slain  in 

the  fires  of  his  love  are  devoured, 
And  deflowered  of  their  lives  by  the  storms,  as  by  priests 

is  the  spirit  of  life  deflowered. 
For  the  wind,   of  its   godlike  mercy,   relents   not,   and 

hounds  them  ahead  to  the  north, 

225 


THE   ARMADA 

With  English  hunters  at  heel,  till  now  is  the  herd  of  them 

past  the  Forth, 
All  huddled  and  hurtled  seaward  ;  and  now  need  none 

wage  war  upon  these, 
Nor    huntsman    follow    the    quarry    whose    fall    is    the 

pastime  sought  of  the  seas. 
Day  upon  day  upon  day  confounds  them,  with  measure- 
less mists  that  swell, 
With  drift  of  rains  everlasting  and  dense  as  the  fumes  of 

ascending  hell. 
The  visions   of  priest   and    of    prophet  beholding   his 

enemies  bruised  of  his  rod 
Beheld  but  the  likeness  of  this  that  is   fallen   on   the 

faithful,  the  friends  of  God. 
Northward,  and  northward,  and  northward  they  stagger 

and  shudder  and  swerve  and  flit. 
Dismantled  of  masts  and  of  yards,  with  sails  by  the  fangs 

of  the  storm-wind  split. 
But  north  of  the  headland  whose  name  is  Wrath,  by  the 

wrath  or  the  ruth  of  the  sea, 
They  are  swept  or  sustained  to  the  westward,  and  drive 

through  the  rollers  aloof  to  the  lee. 
Some  strive  yet  northward  for  Iceland,  and  perish  :  but 

some  through  the  storm-hewn  straits 
That  sunder  the  Shetlands  and  Orkneys  are  borne  of  the 

breath  which  is  God's  or  fate's  : 
And  some,  by  the  dawn  of  September,  at  last  give  thanks 

as  for  stars  that  smile, 

226 


THE   ARMADA 

For  the  winds  hav^e  swept  them  to  shelter  and  sight  of  the 

cliffs  of  a  Catholic  isle. 
Though  many  the  fierce  rocks  feed  on,  and  many  the 

merciless  heretic  slays, 
Yet  some  that  have  laboured  to  land  with  their  treasure 

are  trustful,  and  give  God  praise. 
And  the  kernes  of  murderous  Ireland,   athirst  with  a 

greed  everlasting  of  blood, 
Unslakable  ever  with  slaughter  and  spoil,  rage  down  as 

a  ravening  flood. 
To  slay  and  to  flay  of  their  shining  apparel  their  brethren 

whom  shipwreck  spares ; 
Such  faith  and  such  mercy,  such  love  and  such  manhood, 

such  hands  and  such  hearts  are  theirs. 
Short  shrift  to  her  foes  gives  England,  but  shorter  doth 

Ireland  to  friends  ;   and  worse 
Fare  they  that  came  with  a  blessing  on  treason  than  they 

that  come  with  a  curse. 
Hacked,  harried,  and  mangled  of  axes  and  skenes,  three 

thousand  naked  and  dead 
Bear  witness  of  Catholic  Ireland,  what  sons  of  what  sires 

at  her  breasts  are  bred. 
Winds  are  pitiful,  waves  are  merciful,  tempest  and  storm 

are  kind  : 
The   waters  that  smite  may  spare,   and  the  thunder  is 

deaf,  and  the  lightning  is  blind  : 
Of  these  perchanccat  his  need  may  a  man,  thougli  they 
know  it  not,  yet  find  grace  ; 

227 


THE   ARMADA 

But  grace,  if  another  be  liardened  against  liim,  he  gets 

not  at  this  man's  face. 
For  his  ear  that  hears  and  his  eye  that  sees  the  wreck 

and  the  wail  of  men, 
And  his  heart  that  relents  not  within  him,  but  hungers, 

are  like  as  the  w'olf's  in  his  den. 
Worth}^  are  these  to  worship  their  master,  the  murderous 

Lord  of  lies, 
Who  hath  given  to  the  pontiff  his  servant  the  keys  of  the 

pit  and  the  keys  of  the  skies. 
Wild  famine  and  red-shod  rapine  are  cruel,  and  bitter 

with  l)lood  are  their  feasts  ; 
But  fiercer  than  famine  and  redder  than  rapine  the  hands 

and  the  hearts  of  priests. 
God,  God  bade  these  to  the  battle;   and  here,  on  a  land 

by  his  servants  trod, 
They  perish,   a  lordly  blood-offering,   subdued  by  the 

hands  of  the  servants  of  God. 
These  also  were  fed  of  his  priests  with  faith,  with  the 

milk  of  his  word  and  the  wine  ; 
These  too  are  fulfilled  with  the  spirit  of  darkness  that 

guided  their  quest  divine. 
And  here,  cast  up  from  the  ravening  sea  on  the  mild 

land's  merciful  breast, 
This  comfort  they  find  of  their  fellow^s  in  w'orship  ;  this 

guerdon  is  theirs  of  their  quest. 
Death  was  captain,  and  doom  was  pilot,  and  darkness  the 

chart  of  their  way  ; 

228 


THE   ARMADA 

Night  and  hell  had  in  charge  and  in  keeping  the  host  of 

the  foes  of  day. 
Invincible,  vanquished,  impregnable,  shattered,  a  sign 

to  her  foes  of  fear, 
A  sign  to  the  world  and  the  stars  of  laughter,  the  fleet 

of  the  Lord  lies  here. 
Nay,  for  none  may  declare  the  place  of  the  ruin  wherein 

she  lies  ; 
Nay,  for  none  hath  beholden  the  grave  whence  never  a 

ghost  shall  rise. 
The  fleet  of  the  foemen  of  England  hath  found  not  one 

but  a  thousand  graves  ; 
And  he  that  shall  number  and  name  them  shall  number 

by  namp  and  by  tale  the  waves. 


229 


THE   ARMADA 


VII 


Sixtus,  Pope  of  the  Church  whose  hope  takes  flight  for 

heaven  to  dethrone  the  sun, 
Philip,    king    that    wouldst  turn  our  spring  to  winter, 

blasted,  appalled,  undone, 
Prince  and  priest,   let  a  mourner's  feast  give  thanks  to 

God  for  your  conquest  won. 

England's  heel  is  upon  you:  kneel,  O  priest,  O  prince, 

in  the  dust,  and  cry, 
♦Lord,  why  thus?  art  thou  wroth  with  us  whose  faith 

was  great  in  thee,  God  most  high? 
Whence  is  this,  that  the  serpent's  hiss  derides  us?  Lord, 

can  thy  pledged  word  lie? 

'  God  of  hell,  are  its  flames  that  swell  quenched  now  for 

ever,  extinct  and  dead? 
Who  shall  fear  thee?  or  who  shall  hear  the  word  thy 

servants  who  feared  thee  said? 
Lord,  art    thou  as  the  dead  gods  now,   whose  arm  is 

sh( »ric' ncd,  whose  rede  is  read? 

♦Yet  we  thought  it  was  not  for  nought  thy  word  was 
given  us,  to  guard  and  guide  : 

230 


THE   ARMADA 

Yet  we  deemed  that  they  had  not  dreamed  who  put  their 

trust  in  thee.      Hast  thou  lied? 
God  our  Lord,  was  the  sacred  sword  we  drew  not  drawn 

on  thy  Church's  side? 

'  England  hates  thee  as  hell's  own  gates  ;   and  England 

triumphs,  and  Rome  bows  down  : 
England  mocks  at  thee  ;  England's  rocks  cast  off  thy 

servants  to  drive  and  drown  : 
England  loathes  thee  ;  and  fame  betroths  and   plights 

with  England  her  faith  for  crown. 

'  Spain  clings  fast  to  thee  ;   Spain,  aghast  with  anguish, 

cries  to  thee  ;  where  art  thou? 
Spain   puts  trust  in   thee  ;  lo,    the  dust   that  soils   and 

darkens  her  prostrate  brow  ! 
Spain  is  true  to  thy  service;  who  shall  raise  up  Spain 

for  thy  service  now? 

'Who  shall  praise  thee,  if  none  may  raise  thy  servants 
up,  nor  affright  thy  foes? 

Winter  wanes,  and  the  woods  and  plains  forget  the  like- 
ness of  storms  and  snows  : 

So  shall  fear  of  thee  fade  even  here  :  and  what  shall 
follow  thee  no  man  knows.' 

Lords  of  night,  who  would  breathe  your  blight  on  April's 

morninpf  and  August's  noon, 
God    vour   Lord,   the  condemned,  the   abhorred,  sinks 

hellward,  smitten  with  deathlike  swoon  : 

231 


THE   ARMADA 

Death's  own   dart  in  his  hateful  heart  now  thrills,  and 
night  shall  receive  him  soon. 

God  the  Devil,  thy  reign  of  revel  is  here  for  ever  eclipsed 

and  fled  : 
God  the  Liar,  everlasting  fire  lays  hold  at  last  on  thee, 

hand  and  head  : 
God  the  Accurst,  the  consuming  thirst  that  burns  thee 

never  shall  here  be  fed. 

II 

England,   queen  of  the  waves   whose   green   inviolate 

girdle  enrings  thee  round, 
Mother  fair  as  the  morning,  where  is  now  the  place  of 

thy  foemen  found? 
Still  the  sea  that  salutes  us  free  proclaims  them  stricken, 

acclaims  thee  crowned. 

Times  may  change,   and  the  skies  grow^  strange   with 

signs  of  treason  and  fraud  and  fear : 
Foes  in  union  of  strange  communion  may  rise  against 

thee  from  far  and  near : 
Sloth   and  greed  on  thy  strength  may  feed  as  cankers 

waxing  from  year  to  year. 

Yet,  though  treason  and  fierce  unreason  should  league 

and  lie  and  defame  and  smite, 
We  that  know  thee,  how  far  below  thee  the  hatred  burns 

of  the  sons  of  night, 

232 


THE   ARMADA 

We  that  love  thee,  behold  above  thee  the  witness  written 
of  life  in  light. 

Life  that  shines  from  thee  shows  forth  signs  that  none 

may  read  not  but  eyeless  foes  : 
Hate,  born  blind,  in  his  abject  mind  grows  hopeful  now 

but  as  madness  grows  : 
Love,  born  wise,  with  exultant  eyes  adores  thy  glory. 

Beholds  and  glows. 

Truth  is  in  thee,  and  none  may  win  thee  to  lie,  forsaking 

the  face  of  truth  : 
Freedom  lives  by  the  grace  she  gives  thee,  born  again 

from  thy  deathless  youth  : 
Faith  should  fail,  and  the  world  turn  pale,  wert  thou 

the  prey  of  the  serpent's  tooth. 

Greed   and  fraud,   unabashed,   unawed,   may  strive  to 

sting  thee  at  heel  in  vain : 
Craft  and  fear  and  mistrust  may  leer  and  mourn  and 

murmur  and  plead  and  plain  : 
Thou   art  thou  :   and  thy  sunbright  brow  is  hers  that 

blasted  the  strength  of  Spain. 

Mother,  mother  beloved,  none  other  could  claim  in  place 

of  thee  England's  place  : 
Earth  bears  none  that  beholds  the  sun  so  pure  of  record, 

so  clothed  with  grace  : 
Dear  our  mother,  nor  son  nor  brother  is  thine,  as  strong 

or  as  fair  of  face.  • 

233 


THE   ARMADA 

How  shall  thou  be  abased?  or  how  shall  fear  take  hold 

of  thy  heart?  of  thine, 
England,  maiden  immortal,   laden  with  charge  of  life 

and  with  hopes  divine? 
Earth  shall  wither,  when  eyes  turned  hither  behold  not 

light  in  her  darkness  shine. 

England,  none  that  is  born  thy  son,  and  lives,  by  grace 

of  thy  glory,  free, 
Lives  and  yearns  not  at  heart  and  burns  with  hope  to 

serve  as  he  worships  thee  ; 
None  may  sing  thee  :  the  sea-wind's  wing  beats  down 

our  songs  as  it  hails  the  sea. 


234 


TO    A    SEAMEW 


WHEN  I  had  wings,  my  brother, 
Such  wings  were  mine  as  thine 
Such  life  my  heart  remembers 
In  all  as  wild  Septembers 
As  this  when  life  seems  other, 

Though  sweet,  than  once  was  mine  ; 
When  I  had  wings,  my  brother, 
Such  wings  were  mine  as  thine. 

Such  life  as  thrills  and  quickens 

The  silence  of  thy  flight. 
Or  fills  thy  note's  elation 
With  lordlier  exultation 
Than  man's,  whose  faint  heart  sickens 

With  hopes  and  fears  that  blight 
Such  life  as  thrills  and  quickens 

The  silence  of  thy  flight. 

Thy  cry  from  windward  clanging 

Makes  all  the  cliffs  rejoice  ; 
Though  storm  clothe  seas  with  sorrow, 
Thy  call  salutes  the  morrow  ; 
While  shades  of  pain  seem  hanging 

235 


TO    A    SEAMEW 

Round  earth's  most  rapturous  voice, 
Thy  cry  from  windward  clanging 
Makes  all  the  cliffs  rejoice. 

We,  sons  and  sires  of  seamen, 

Whose  home  is  all  the  sea, 
What  place  man  may,  we  claim  it; 
But  thine  —  whose  thought  may  name  it? 
Free  birds  live  higher  than  freemen. 

And  gladlier  ye  than  we  — 
We,  sons  and  sires  of  seamen, 

Whose  home  is  all  the  sea. 

For  you  the  storm  sounds  only 

More  notes  of  more  delight 
Than  earth's  in  sunniest  weather : 
When  heaven  and  sea  together 
Join  strengths  against  the  lonely 

Lost  bark  borne  down  by  night, 
For  you  the  storm  sounds  only 

More  notes  of  more  delight. 

With  wider  wing,  and  louder 

Long  clarion-call  of  joy. 
Thy  tribe  salutes  the  terror 
Of  darkness,  wild  as  error, 
But  sure  as  truth,  and  prouder 

Than  waves  with  man  for  toy  ; 
With  wider  wing,  and  louder 

Long  clarion-call  of  joy. 

236 


TO    A    SEAMEW 

The  wave's  wing  spreads  and  flutters, 
The  wave's  heart  swells  and  breaks  ; 

One  moment's  passion  thrills  it, 

One  pulse  of  power  fulfils  it 

And  ends  the  pride  it  utters 

When,  loud  with  life  that  quakes, 

The  wave's  wing  spreads  and  flutters, 
The  wave's  heart  swells  and  breaks. 

But  thine  and  thou,  my  brother. 
Keep  heart  and  wing  more  high 

Than  aught  may  scare  or  sunder  ; 

The  waves  whose  throats  are  thunder 

Fall  hurtling  each  on  other, 
And  triumph  as  they  die  ; 

But  thine  and  thou,  my  brother, 
Keep  heart  and  wing  more  high. 

More  high  than  wrath  or  anguish. 
More  strong  than  pride  or  fear, 

The  sense  or  soul  half  hidden 

In  thee,  for  us  forbidden. 

Bids  thee  nor  change  nor  languish. 
But  live  thy  life  as  here. 

More  high  than  wrath  or  anguish, 
More  strong  than  pride  or  fear. 

We  are  fallen,  even  we,  whose  passion 

On  earth  is  nearest  thine ; 
Who  sing,  and  cease  from  flying; 

237 


TO    A    SEAMEW 

Who  live,  and  dream  of  dying  : 
Grey  time,  in  time's  grey  fashion, 

Bids  wingless  creatures  pine  : 
We  are  fallen,  even  we,  whose  passion 

On  earth  is  nearest  thine. 

The  lark  knows  no  such  rapture. 

Such  joy  no  nightingale. 
As  sways  the  songless  measure 
Wherein  thy  wings  take  pleasure  : 
Thy  love  may  no  man  capture, 

Th}^  pride  may  no  man  quail ; 
The  lark  knows  no  such  rapture. 

Such  joy  no  nightingale. 

And  we,  whom  dreams  embolden, 

We  can  but  creep  and  sing 
And  watch  through  heaven's  waste  hollow 
The  flight  no  sight  may  follow 
To  the  utter  bourne  beholden 

Of  none  that  lack  thy  wing  : 
And  we,  whom  dreams  embolden, 

We  can  but  creep  and  sing. 

Our  dreams  have  wings  that  falter  ; 

Our  hearts  bear  hopes  that  die  ; 
For  thee  no  dream  could  better 
A  life  no  fears  may  fetter, 
A  pride  no  care  can  alter, 

238 


TO   A    SEAMEW 

That  wots  not  whence  or  why 

Our  dreams  have  wings  that  falter, 

Our  hearts  bear  hopes  that  die. 

With  joy  more  fierce  and  sweeter 

Than  joys  we  deem  divine 
Their  lives,  by  time  untarnished, 
Are  girt  about  and  garnished, 
Who  match  the  wave's  full  metre 
And  drink  the  wind's  wild  wine 
With  joy  more  fierce  and  sweeter 
Than  joys  we  deem  divine. 

Ah,  well  were  I  for  ever, 

Wouldst  thou  change  lives  with  me. 
And  take  my  song's  wild  honey, 
And  give  me  back  thy  sunny 
Wide  eyes  that  weary  never. 

And  wings  that  search  the  sea ; 
Ah,  well  were  I  for  ever, 

Wouldst  thou  change  lives  with  me. 

Beachy  Head,  September,  1886. 


239 


PAN    AND    THALASSIUS 

A    LYRICAL    IDYL 
THALASSIUS 


1    AN! 

PAN. 

O  sea-stray,  seed  of  Apollo, 

What  word  wouldst  thou  have  with  me? 
My  ways  thou  wast  fain  to  follow 

Or  ever  the  years  hailed  thee 
Man. 

Now 
If  August  brood  on  the  valleys, 
If  satyrs  laugh  on  the  lawns, 
What  part  in  the  wildwood  alleys 

Hast  thou  with  the  fleet-foot  fauns  — 
Thou? 

See! 

Thy  feet  are  a  man's  —  not  cloven 
Like  these,  not  light  as  a  boy's  : 

240 


PAN    AND    THALASSIUS 

The  tresses  and  tendrils  inwoven 
That  lure  us,  the  lure  of  them  cloys 
Thee. 

Us 
The  joy  of  the  wild  woods  never 

Leaves  free  of  the  thirst  it  slakes  : 
The  wild  love  throbs  in  us  ever 

That  burns  in  the  dense  hot  brakes 
Thus. 

Life, 
Eternal,  passionate,  awless. 
Insatiable,  mutable,  dear, 
Makes  all  men's  law  for  us  lawless : 
We  strive  not :  how  should  we  fear 
Strife? 

We, 

The  birds  and  the  bright  winds  know  not 
Such  joys  as  are  ours  in  the  mild 

Warm  woodland ;  joys  such  as  grow  not 
In  waste  green  fields  of  the  wild 
Sea. 

No; 
Long  since,  in  the  world's  wind  veering. 
Thy  heart  was  estranged  from  me  : 

241 


PAN    AND    THALASSIUS 

Sweel  Echo  shall  yield  thee  nol  hearing 
What  have  we  to  do  with  thee? 
Go. 

THALASSIUS 

Ay! 

Such  wrath  on  thy  nostril  quivers 

As  once  in  Sicilian  heat 
Bade  herdsmen  quail,  and  the  rivers 

Shrank,  leaving  a  path  for  thy  feet 
Dry? 

Nay, 
Low  down  in  the  hot  soft  hollow 

Too  snakelike  hisses  thy  spleen  : 
'  O  sea-stray,  seed  of  Apollo  ! ' 

What  ill  hast  thou  heard  or  seen? 
Say. 

Man 

Knows  well,  if  he  hears  beside  him 
The  snarl  of  thy  wrath  at  noon. 

What  evil  may  soon  betide  him. 
Or  late,  if  thou  smite  not  soon, 
Pan. 

Me 

The  sound  of  thy  flute,  that  flatters 
The  woods  as  they  smile  and  sigh, 

2.12 


PAN    AND    THALASSIUS 

Charmed  fiist  as  it  charms  thy  satyrs, 
Can  charm  no  faster  than  I 
Thee. 

Fast 
Thy  music  may  charm  the  splendid 

Wide  woodland  silence  to  sleep 
With  sounds  and  dreams  of  thee  blended 
And  whispers  of  waters  that  creep 
Past. 

Here 

The  spell  of  thee  breathes  and  passes 
And  bids  the  heart  in  me  pause, 

Hushed  soft  as  the  leaves  and  the  grasses 
Are  hushed  if  the  storm's  foot  draws 
Near. 

Yet 

The  panic  that  strikes  down  strangers 
Transgressing  thy  ways  unaware 

Affrights  not  me  nor  endangers 
Through  dread  of  thy  secret  snare 
Set. 

PAN 

Whence 
May  man  find  heart  to  deride  me? 
Who  made  his  face  as  a  star 


43 


PAN    AND    THALASSIUS 

To  shine  as  a  God's  beside  me? 
Nay,  get  thee  away  from  us,  far 
Hence. 

THALASSIUS 

Tiien 
Shall  no  man's  heart,  as  he  raises 

A  hymn  to  thy  secret  head, 
Wax  great  with  the  godhead  he  praises  : 
Thou,  God,  shalt  be  Hke  unto  dead 
Men. 

PAN 

Grace 
I  take  not  of  men's  thanksgiving, 

I  crave  not  of  lips  that  live  ; 
They  die,  and  behold,  I  am  living. 
While  they  and  their  dead  Gods  give 
Place. 

THALASSIUS 

Yea: 
Too  lightly  the  words  were  spoken 

That  mourned  or  mocked  at  thee  dead 
But  whose  was  the  word,  the  token, 
The  song  that  answered  and  said 
Nay? 

244 


PAN    AND    THALASSIUS 

PAN 

Whose 
But  mine,  in  the  midnight  hidden, 

Clothed  round  with  the  strength  of  night 
And  mysteries  of  things  forbidden 
For  all  but  the  one  most  bright 
Muse? 

THALASSIUS 

Hers 
Or  thine,  O  Pan,  was  the  token 

That  gave  back  empire  to  thee 
When  power  in  thy  hands  lay  broken 
As  reeds  that  quake  if  a  bee 
Stirs? 

PAN 

Whom 
Have  I  in  my  wide  woods  need  of? 

Urania's  limitless  eyes 
Behold  not  mine  end,  though  they  read  of 
A  word  that  shall  speak  to  the  skies 
Doom. 

THALASSIUS 

She 
Gave  back  to  thee  kingdom  and  glory, 
And  fji'ace  that  was  thine  of  ^•ore, 

245 


PAN    AND    TIIALASSIUS 

And  life  to  thy  leaves,  late  hoary 
As  weeds  cast  up  from  the  hoar 
Sea. 

Song 
Can  bid  faith  shine  as  the  morning 

Though  light  in  the  world  be  none  : 
Death  shrinks  if  her  tongue  sound  warning, 
Night  quails,  and  beholds  the  sun 
Strong. 

PAN 

Night 
Bare  rule  over  men  for  ages 

Whose  worship  wist  not  of  me 
And  gat  but  sorrows  for  wages, 
And  hardly  for  tears  could  see 
Light. 

Call 
No  more  on  the  starry  presence 

Whose  light  through  the  long  dark  swam 
Hold  fast  to  the  green  world's  pleasance  : 
For  T  that  am  lord  of  it  am 
All. 

TIIALASSIUS 

God, 
God  Pan,  from  the  glad  wood's  portal 
^rhc  l)reaths  of  thy  song  l)low  sweet: 

246 


PAN   AND    THALASSIUS 

But  woods  may  be  walked  in  of  mortal 
Man's  thought,  where  never  thy  feet 
Trod. 

Thine 
All  secrets  of  growth  and  of  birth  are, 

All  glories  of  flower  and  of  tree. 
Wheresoever  the  wonders  of  earth  are  ; 
The  words  of  the  spell  of  the  sea 
Mine. 


247 


A    BALLAD    OF    BATH 


LIKE  a  queen  enchanted  who  may  not  laugh  or  weep, 
Glad  at  heart  and  guarded  from  change  and  care 
like  ours, 
Girt  about  with  beauty  by  days  and  nights  that  creep 
Soft  as  breathless  ripples  that  softl}'  shoreward  sweep, 
Lies  the  lovely  city  whose  grace  no  grief  deflowers. 
Age  and  grey  forgetfulness,  time  that  shifts  and  veers. 
Touch  not  thee,  our  fairest,  whose  charm  no  rival  nears. 
Hailed    as  England's  Florence  of  one  whose  praise 
gives  grace, 
Landor,  once  thy  lover,  a  name  that  love  reveres  : 
Dawn  and  noon  and  sunset  are  one  before  thy  face. 

Dawn  whereof  we  know  not,  and  noon  w'hose  fruit  we 
reap, 
Garnered  up  in  record  of  years  that  fell  like  flowers. 
Sunset  liker  sunrise  along  the  shining  steep 
Whence    thy    fair   face  lightens,    and    where    thy    soft 
springs  leap, 
Crown  at  once  and  gird  thee  with  grace  ol   guardian 
powers. 
Loved  of  nu-n  beloved  of  us,  souls  that  fame  inspheres, 

248 


A    BALLAD    OF    BATH 

All  thine  air  hath  music  for  him  who  dreams  and  hears  ; 

Voices  mixed  of  multitudes,  feet  of  friends  that  pace, 
Witness  why  for  ever,  if  heaven's  face  clouds  or  clears, 

Dawn  and  noon  and  sunset  are  one  before  thy  face. 

Peace  hath  here  found  harbourage  mild  as  very  sleep  : 
Not  the  hills  and  waters,   the  fields    and  wild  wood 
bowers. 
Smile  or  speak  more  tenderly,  clothed  with  peace  more 

deep. 
Here  than  memory  whispers  of  days  our  memories  keep 
Fast  with  love  and  laughter  and  dreams  of  withered 
hours. 
Bright  were  these  as  blossom  of  old,  and  thought  endears 
Still  the  fair  soft  phantoms  that  pass  with  smiles  or  tears. 
Sweet  as  roseleaves  hoarded  and  dried  wherein  we 
trace 
Still  the  soul  and  spirit  of  sense  that  lives  and  cheers  : 
Dawn  and  noon  and  sunset  are  one  before  thy  face. 

City  lulled  asleep  by  the  chime  of  passing  years. 
Sweeter  smiles    thy  rest  than  the  radiance   round  thy 
peers  ; 

Only  love  and  lovely  remembrance  here  have  place. 
Time  on  thee  lies  lighter  than  music  on  men's  ears  ; 

Dawn  and  noon  and  sunset  are  one  before  thy  face. 


249 


B 


IN    A     GARDEN 


ABY,  see  the  flowers  ! 
—  Baby  sees 


Fairer  things  than  these, 
Fairer  though  they  be  than  dreams  of  ours. 

Baby,  hear  the  birds  ! 

—  Baby  knows 
Better  songs  than  those, 

Sweeter  though  they  sound  than  sweetest  words. 

Baby,  see  the  moon  ! 

—  Baby's  eyes 
Laugh  to  watch  it  rise, 

Answering  light  with  love  and  night  with  noon. 

Baby,  hear  the  sea  ! 

—  Baby's  face 
Takes  a  graver  grace, 

Touched  with  wonder  what  the  sound  may  be. 

Baby,  see  the  star  I 

—  Baby's  hand 
Opens,  warm  and  bland, 

Calm  in  claim  of  all  things  fair  that  are. 

250 


IN    A    GARDEN 

Baby,  hear  the  bells  ! 
—  Baby's  head 
Bows,  as  ripe  for  bed. 
Now  the  flowers  curl  round  and  close  their  cells. 

Baby,  flower  of  light. 
Sleep,  and  see 
Brighter  dreams  than  we. 
Till  good  day  shall  smile  away  good  night. 


251 


A    RHYME 


Bx\BE,  if  rhyme  be  none 
For  that  sweet  small  word 
Babe,  the  sweetest  one 
Ever  heard, 

Right  it  is  and  meet 

Rhyme  should  keep  not  true 
Time  with  such  a  sweet 
Thing  as  you. 

Meet  it  is  that  rh3^me 

Should  not  gain  such  grace  : 
What  is  April's  prime 
To  your  face? 

What  to  yours  is  May's 

Rosiest  smile?  what  sound 
Like  your  laughter  sways 
All  hearts  round? 

None  can  tell  in  metre 
Fit  for  ears  on  earth 
What  sweet  star  grew  sweeter 
At  your  birth. 

252 


A    RHYME 

Wisdom  doubts  what  may  be  : 

Hope,  with  smile  sublime, 
Trusts  :  but  neither,  baby, 
Knows  the  rhyme. 

Wisdom  lies  down  lonely  ; 

Hope  keeps  watch  from  far ; 
None  but  one  seer  only 
Sees  the  star. 

Love  alone,  with  yearning 

Heart  for  astrolabe, 
Takes  the  star's  height,  burning 
O'er  the  babe. 


253 


BABY-BIRD 


BABY-BIRD,  baby-bird, 
Ne'er  a  song  on  earth 
May  be  heard,  ma}^  be  heard, 
Ricli  as  yours  in  mirth. 

All  your  flickering  fingers, 
All  your  twinkling  toes. 

Play  like  light  that  lingers 
Till  the  clear  song  close. 

Baby-bird,  baby-bird. 
Your  grave  majestic  eyes 

Like  a  bird's  warbled  words 
Speak,  and  sorrow  dies. 

Sorrow  dies  for  love's  sake. 
Love  grows  one  with  mirth. 

Even  for  one  white  dove's  sake. 
Born  a  babe  on  earth. 

Baby-bird,  baby-bird. 
Chirping  loud  and  long, 

Other  birds  hush  their  words, 
Hearkening  toward  your  song. 

254 


BABY-BIRD 

Sweet  as  spring  though  it  ring, 

Full  of  love's  own  lures, 
Weak  and  wrong  sounds  their  song, 

Singing  after  yours. 

Baby-bird,  baby-bird. 

The  happy  heart  that  hears 

Seems  to  win  back  within 
Heaven,  and  cast  out  fears. 

Earth  and  sun  seem  as  one 

Sweet  light  and  one  sweet  word 

Known  of  none  here  but  one. 
Known  of  one  sweet  bird. 


255 


OLIVE 


WHO  may  praise  her? 
Eyes  where  midnight  shames  the  sun, 
Hair  of  night  and  sunshine  spun, 
Woven  of  dawn's  or  twilight's  loom. 
Radiant  darkness,  lustrous  gloom. 
Godlike  childhood's  fiowerlike  bloom. 
None  may  praise  aright,  nor  sing 
Half  the  grace  wherewith  like  spring 
Love  arrays  her. 

II 

Love  untold 
Sings  in  silence,  speaks  in  light 
Shed  from  each  fair  feature,  bright 
Slill  from  heaven,  whence  toward  us,  now 
Nine  years  since,  she  deigned  to  bow 
Down  the  brightness  of  her  brow, 
Deigned  to  pass  through  mortal  birth : 
Reverence  calls  her,  here  on  earth, 

Nine  years  old. 

256 


OLIVE 


III 


Love's  deep  duty, 
Even  when  love  transfigured  grows 
Worship,  all  too  surely  knows 
How,  though  love  may  cast  out  fear, 
Yet  the  debt  divine  and  dear 
Due  to  childhood's  godhead  here 
May  by  love  of  man  be  paid 
Never  ;  never  song  be  made 

Worth  its  beautv. 


IV 


Nought  is  all 
Sung  or  said  or  dreamed  or  thought 
Ever,  set  beside  it ;  nought 
All  the  love  that  man  may  give  — 
Love  whose  prayer  should  be,  '  Forgive  ! ' 
Heaven,  we  see,  on  earth  may  live; 
Earth  can  thank  not  heaven,  we  know, 
Save  with  songs  that  ebb  and  flow, 

Rise  and  fall. 


No  man  living. 
No  man  dead,  save  haply  one 
Now  gone  homeward  past  the  sun, 

257 


OLIVE 

Ever  found  such  grace  as  might 
Tunc;  his  tongue  to  praise  aright 
Children,  flowers  of  love  and  light, 
Whom  our  praise  dispraises  :   we 
Sing,  in  sooth,  but  not  as  he 
Sang  thanksgiving. 

VI 

Hope  that  smiled, 
Seeing  her  new-born  beauty,  made 
Out  of  heaven's  own  light  and  shade. 
Smiled  not  half  so  sweetly  :  love, 
Seeing  the  sun,  afar  above. 
Warm  the  nest  that  rears  the  dove, 
Sees,  more  bright  than  moon  or  sun, 
All  the  heaven  of  heavens  in  one 

Little  child. 

VII 

Who  may  sing  her? 
Wings  of  angels  when  they  stir 
Make  no  music  worthy  her  : 
Sweeter  sound  her  shy  soft  words 
Here  than  songs  of  God's  own  birds 
Whom  the  fire  of  rapture  girds 
Round  with  liirht  from  love's  face  lit : 
Hands  of  angels  find  no  fit 

Gifts  to  bring  her. 

2vS 


O  L I  \^  E 


VIII 


Babes  at  birtli 
Wear  as  raiment  round  them  cast, 
Keep  as  witness  toward  their  past, 
Tokens  left  of  heaven  ;   and  each, 
Ere  its  lips  learn  mortal  speech. 
Ere  sweet  heaven  pass  on  pass  reach, 
Bears  in  undiverted  eyes 
Proof  of  unforgotten  skies 

Here  on  earth. 


IX 


Quenched  as  embers 
Quenched  with  flakes  of  rain  or  snow 
Till  the  last  faint  flame  burns  low. 
All  those  lustrous  memories  lie 
Dead  with  babyhood  gone  by  : 
Yet  in  her  they  dare  not  die  : 
Others,  fair  as  heaven  is,  yet. 
Now  they  share  not  heaven,  forget : 

She  remembers. 


259 


A    WORD    WITH    THE    WIND 


ORD  of  days  and  nights  that  hear  thy  word  of  wintr}' 


T     ORD  of  da 
L/      warnino-, 


Wind,   whose    feet  are  set   on  ways   that   none   may 
tread, 
Change  the  nest  wherein  thy  wings  are  fledged  for  iHght 
by  morning, 
Change  the  harbour  whence   at  dawn  thy   sails   are 
spread. 
Not  the  dawn,  ere  yet  the  imprisoning  night  has  half 
released  her, 
More  desires  the  sun's  full  face  of  cheer,  than  we. 
Well  as  yet  we  love  the  strength  of  the  iron-tongued 
north-easter. 
Yearn  for  wind  to  meet  us  as  we  front  the  sea. 
All  thy  ways  are  good,  O  wind,  and  all  the  world  should 
fester, 
Were  thy  fourfold  godhead  quenched,  or  stilled  thy 
strife : 
Yet  the  waves  and  we  desire  too  long  the  deep  south- 
wester, 
Whence  the  waters  quicken   shoreward,  clothed  with 
life. 

260 


A    WORD    WITH    THE    WIND 

Yet  the  field  not  made  for  ploughing  save  of  keels  nor 
harrowing 
Save  of  storm-winds  lies  unbrightened  by  thy  breath  : 
Banded  broad  with  ruddy  samphire  glow  the  sea-banks 
narrowing 
Westward,    while  the   sea  gleams  chill   and  still  as 
death. 
Sharp  and  strange  from  inland  sounds  thy  bitter  note  of 
battle, 
Blown  between  grim  skies  and  waters  sullen-souled, 
Till  the  bafiied  seas  bear  back,  rocks  roar  and  shingles 
rattle. 
Vexed  and  angered  and  anhungered  and  acold. 
Change  thy  note,  and  give  the  waves  their  will,  and  all 
the  measure. 
Full  and  perfect,  of  the  music  of  their  might, 
Let  it  fill  the  bays  with  thunderous  notes  and  throbs  of 
pleasure. 
Shake  the  shores  with    passion,  sound  at  once  and 
smite. 
Sweet  are  even  the  mild  low  notes  of  wind  and  sea,  but 
sweeter 
Sounds  the  song  whose  coral  wrath  of  raging  rhyme 
Bids  the  shelving  shoals  keep  tune  with  storm's  imperi- 
ous metre. 
Bids  the  rocks  and  reefs  respond  in  rapturous  chime. 
Sweet  the  lisp  and  lulling  whisper  and  luxurious  laugh- 
ter. 
Soft  as  love  or  sleep,  of  waves  whereon  the  sun 

261 


A     WORD    WITH     THE    WIND 

Dreams,  and  dreams  not  of  the  darkling  hours  before 
nor  after, 
Winged  with  cloud  whose  wrath  shall  bid  love's  day 
be  done. 
Yet  shall  darkness  bring  the  awakening  sea  a  lordlier 
lover, 
Clothed    with    strength    more    amorous    and    more 
strenuous  will, 
Whence  her  heart  of  hearts  shall   kindle  and  her  soul 
recover 
Sense  of  love  too  keen  to  lie  for  love's  sake  still. 
Let  thy  strong  south-western  music  sound,  and  bid  the 
billows 
Brighten,  proud  and  glad  to  feel  thy  scourge  and  kiss 
Sting  and  soothe  and  sway  them,  bowed  as  aspens  bend 
or  willows, 
Yet  resurgent  still  in  breathless  rage  of  bliss. 
All  to-dav  the  slow  sleek  ripples  hardly  bear  up  shore- 
ward, 
Charged  with  sighs  more  light  than  laughter,  faint 
and  fair, 
Like  a  woodland  lake's  weak  wavelets  lightly  lingering 
forward, 
Soft  and  listless  as  the  slumber-stricken  air. 
Be   the   sunshine   bared  or  veiled,    the    sky  superb  or 
shrouded, 
Still  the  waters,  lax  and  languid,  chafed  and  foiled. 
Keen  and  thwarted,  pale  and  patient,  clothed  with  lire 
or  clouded, 

262 


A   WORD   WITH   THE   WIND 

Vex  their  heart  in  vain,  or  sleep  like  serpents  coiled. 
Thee  they  look  for,  blind  and  baffled,  wan  with  wrath 
and  weary, 
Blown  for  ever  back  by  winds  that  rock  the  bird  : 
Winds  that  seamews  breast  subdue  the  sea,  and  bid  the 
dreary 
Waves  be  weak  as  hearts  made  sick  with  hope  deferred. 
Let  thy  clarion  sound  from  westward,  let  the  south  bear 
token 
How  the  glories  of  thy  godhead  sound  and  shine  : 
Bid  the  land  rejoice  to  see  the  land-wind's  broad  wings 
broken, 
Bid  the  sea  take  comfort,  bid  the  world  be  thine. 
Half  the  world  abhors  thee  beating  back  the  sea,  and 
blackening 
Heaven   with   fierce    and   woful  change  of  lluctuant 
form  : 
All  the  world    acclaims  thee  shifting   sail   again,    and 
slackening 
Cloud  by  cloud  the  close-reefed  cordage  of  the  storm. 
Sweeter  fields  and  brighter  woods  and  lordlier  hills  than 
waken 
Here  at  sunrise  never  hailed  the  sun  and  thee  : 
Turn  thee  then,  and  give  them  comfort,  shed  like  rain 
and  shaken 
Far  as  foam  that  laughs  and  leaps  along  the  sea. 


J63 


NEAP-TIDE 


FAR  off  is  the  sea,  and  the  land  is  afar : 
The  low  banks  reach  at  the  sky, 
Seen  hence,  and  are  heavenward  high ; 
Though  light  for  the  leap  of  a  boy  they  are, 
And  the  far  sea  late  was  nigh. 

The  fair  wild  fields  and  the  circling  downs. 
The  bright  sweet  marshes  and  meads 
All  glorious  with  flowerlike  weeds. 

The  great  grey  churches,  the  sea-washed  towns, 
Recede  as  a  dream  recedes. 

The  world  draws  back,  and  the  world's  light  wanes. 
As  a  dream  dies  down  and  is  dead  ; 
And  the  clouds  and  the  gleams  overhead 

Change,  and  change;  and  the  sea  remains, 
A  shadow  of  dreamlike  dread. 

Wild  and  woful,  and  pale,  and  grey, 

A  shadow  of  sleepless  fear, 

A  corpse  with  the  night  for  bier, 
The  fairest  thing  that  beholds  the  day 

Lies  haggard  and  liopeless  here. 

264 


NEAP-TIDE 

Anal  the  wind's  wings,  broken  and  spent,  subside  ; 

And  the  dumb  waste  world  is  hoar. 

And  strange  as  the  sea  the  shore  ; 
And  shadows  of  shapeless  dreams  abide 

Where  life  may  abide  no  more. 

A  sail  to  seaward,  a  sound  from  shoreward, 
And  the  spell  were  broken  that  seems 
To  reign  in  a  world  of  dreams 

Where  vainly  the  dreamer's  feet  make  forward 
And  vainly  the  low  sky  gleams. 

The  sea-forsaken  forlorn  deep-wrinkled 

Salt  slanting  stretches  of  sand 

That  slope  to  the  seaward  hand, 
Were  they  fain  of  the  ripples  that  flashed  and  twinkled 

And  laughed  as  they  struck  the  .strand? 

As  bells  on  the  reins  of  the  fairies  ring 
The  ripples  that  kissed  them  rang, 
The  light  from  the  sundawn  sprang, 

And  the  sweetest  of  songs  that  the  world  may  sing 
Was  theirs  when  the  full  sea  sang. 

Now  no  light  is  in  heaven ;  and  now 

Not  a  note  of  the  sea-wind's  tune 

Rings  hither  :  the  bleak  sky's  boon 
Grants  hardly  sight  of  a  grey  sun's  brow  — 

A  sun  more  sad  than  the  moon. 

265 


NEAP-TIDE 

More  sad  than  a  moon  that  clouds  beleaguer 

And  storm  is  a  scourge  to  smite, 

The  sick  sun's  shadowlike  light 
Grows  faint  as  the  clouds  and  the  waves  wax  eager, 

And  withers  away  from  sight. 

The  day's  heart  cowers,  and  the  night's  heart  quickens  : 
Full  fain  would  the  day  be  dead 
And  the  stark  night  reign  in  his  stead  : 

The  sea  falls  dumb  as  the  sea-fog  thickens 
And  the  sunset  dies  for  dread. 

Outside  of  the  range  of  time,  whose  breath 
Is  keen  as  the  manslayer's  knife 
And  his  peace  but  a  truce  for  strife, 

Who  knows  if  haply  the  shadow  of  death 
May  be  not  the  light  of  life? 

For  the  storm  and  the  rain  and  the  darkness  borrow 
But  an  hour  from  the  suns  to  be, 
But  a  strange  swift  passage,  that  we 

May  rejoice,  who  have  mourned  not  to-day,  to-morrow. 
In  the  sun  and  the  wind  and  the  sea. 


266 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE 


SUMMER'S  face  was  rosiest,  skies  and  woods  were 
mellow, 
Earth  had  heaven  to  friend,   and  heaven  had  earth  to 
fellow. 
When  we  met  where  wooded  hills  and  meadows  meet. 
Autumn's  face  is  pale,  and  all  her  late  leaves  yellow. 
Now  that  here  again  we  greet. 

Wan  with  years  whereof  this  eightieth  nears  December, 

Fair  and  bright  with  love,  the  kind  old  face  I  know 
Shines  above  the  sweet  small  twain  whose  eyes  remember 
Heaven,  and  fill  with  April's  light  this  pale  November, 
Though  the  dark  year's  glass  run  low. 

Like  a  rose  whose  joy  of  life  her  silence  utters 

When  the  birds  are  loud,  and  low  the  lulled  wind  mutters, 

Grave  and  silent  shines  the  boy  nigh  three  years  old. 
Wise  and  sweet  his  smile,  that  falters  not  nor  flutters. 

Glows,  and  turns  the  gloom  to  gold. 

Like  the  new-born  sun's  that  strikes  the  dark  and  slab's  it, 

So  that  even  for  love  of  light  it  smiles  and  dies. 
Laughs   the  boy's  blithe  face   whose  fair  fourth   year 
arrays  it 

267 


BY    THE    WAYSIDE 

All  with  light  of  life  ;uul  mirth  that  stirs  and  sways  it 
And  fulfils  the  deep  wide  eyes. 

Wide  and  warm  with  glowing  laughter's  exultation, 
Full  of  welcome,  full  of  sunbright  jubilation, 

Flash    my    taller   friend's  quick   eyebeams,   charged 
with  glee ; 
But  with  softer  still  and  sweeter  salutation 

Shine  my  smaller  friend's  on  me. 

Little  arms  flung  round  my  bending  neck,  that  yoke  it 
Fast  in  tender  bondage,  draw  my  face  down  too 

Toward  the  fiower-soft  face  whose  dumb  deep  smiles 
invoke  it, 

Dumb,  but  love  can  read  the  radiant  eyes  that  woke  it, 
Blue  as  June's  mid  heaven  is  blue. 

How   may    men   find  refuge,     how    should    hearts    be 

shielded, 
From  the  weapons  thus  by  little  children  wielded. 

When  they  lift  such  eyes  as  light  this  lustrous  face — 
Eyes  that  woke  love  sleeping  unawares,  and  yielded 

Love  for  love,  a  gift  of  grace, 

Grace  beyond  man's  merit,  love  that  laughs,  forgiving 

Even  the  sin  of  being  no  more  a  child,  nor  worth 
Trust  and  love  that  lavish  gifts  above  man's  giving. 
Touch  or  glance  of  eyes  and  lips  the  sweetest  living, 
Fair  as  heaven  and  kind  as  earth? 

268 


NIGHT 


FROM    THE    ITALIAN    OP'    GIOVANNI    STROZZI 

NIGHT,  whom  in  shape  so  sweet  thou  here  may'st  see 
Sleeping,  was  by  an  Angel  sculptured  thus 
In  marble,  and  since  she  sleeps  hath  life  like  us  : 
Thou  doubt'st?  Awake  her:  she  will  speak  to  thee. 


II 


FROM    THE    ITALIAN    OF    MICHELANGELO    BUONARROTI 

Sleep  likes  me  well,  and  better  yet  to  know 

I  am  but  stone.     While  shame  and  grief  must  be, 
Good  hap  is  mine,  to  feel  not,  nor  to  see  : 

Take  heed,  then,  lest  thou  wake  me  :  ah,  speak  low. 


269 


IN    TIME    OF    MOURNING 


'  pETURN,'  we  dare  not  as  we  fain 
1  \     Would  cry  from  hearts  that  yearn 

Love  dares  not  bid  our  dead  again 
Return. 

O  hearts  that  strain  and  burn 
As  fires  fast  fettered  burn  and  strain  ! 
Bow  down,  lie  still,  and  learn. 

The  heart  that  healed  all  hearts  of  pain 

No  funeral  rites  inurn  : 
Its  echoes,  while  the  stars  remain, 

Return. 


Afiiy,  1885. 


270 


THE    INTERPRETERS 


DAYS  dawn  on  us  that  make  amends  for  many 
Sometimes, 
When  heaven  and  earth  seem  sweeter  even  than  any 
Man's  rhymes. 

Light  had  not  all  been  quenched  in  France,  or  quelled 

In  Greece, 
Had  Homer  sung  not,  or  had  Hugo  held 

His  peace. 

Had  Sappho's  self  not  left  her  word  thus  long 

For  token, 
The  sea  round  Lesbos  3'et  in  waves  of  song 

Had  spoken. 


II 


And  yet  these  days  of  subtler  air  and  finer 

Delight, 
When  lovelier  looks  the  darkness,  and  diviner 

The  light  — 

271 


THE    INTERPRETERS 

The  gilt  they  give  of  all  these  golden  hours, 

Whose  urn 
Pours  forth  reverberate  rays  or  shadowing  showers 

In  turn  — 

Clouds,  beams,  and  winds  that  make  the  live  day's  track 

Seem  living  — 
What  were  they  did  no  spirit  give  them  back 

Thanksgiving? 


Ill 


Dead  air,  dead  fire,  dead  shapes  and  shadows,  telling 

Time  nought ; 
Man  gives  them  sense  and  soul  by  song,  and  dwelling 

In  thought. 

In  iuinian  thought  their  being  endures,  their  power 

Abides  : 
Else  were  their  life  a  thing  that  each  light  hour 

Derides. 

The  years  live,  work,  sigh,  smile,  and  die,  with  all 

They  cherish  ; 
The  soul  endures,  though  dreams  that  fed  it  fall 

And  perish. 

272 


THE    INTERPRETERS 


IV 


In  human  thought  have  all  things  habitation  ; 

Our  days 
Laugh,  lower,  and  lighten  past,  and  find  no  station 

That  stays. 

But  thought  and  faith  are  mightier  things  than  time 

Can  wrong, 
Made  splendid  once  with  speech,  or  made  sublime 

By  song. 

Remembrance,  though  the  tide  of  change  that  rolls 

Wax  hoary, 
Gives  earth  and  heaven,  for  song's  sake  and  the  soul's. 

Their  glory. 

July  1 6th,  1885. 


017-) 


THE  RECALL 


RETURN,  they  cry,  ere  yet  your  day 
Set,  and  the  sky  grow  stern  : 
Return,  strayed  souls,  while  yet  ye  may 
Return. 

liut  heavens  beyond  us  yearn  ; 
Yea,  heights  of  heaven  above  the  sway 
Of  stars  that  eyes  discern. 

The  soul  whose  wings  from  shoreward  stray 
Makes  toward  her  viewless  bourne 

Though  trustless  faith  and  unfaith  say, 
Return. 


274 


BY  TWILIGHT 


IF  we  dream  that  desire  of  the  distance  above  us 
Should  be  fettered  by  fear  of  the  shadows  that  seem, 
If  we  wake,  to  be  nought,  but  to  hate  or  to  love  us 
If  we  dream. 

Night  sinks  on  the  soul,  and  the  stars  as  they  gleam 
Speak  menace  or  mourning,  with  tongues  to  reprove  us 
That  we  deemed  of  them  better  than  terror  may  deem. 

But  if  hope  may  not  lure  us,  if  fear  may  not  move  us. 
Thought  lightens  the  darkness  wherein  the  supreme 
Pure  presence  of  death  shall  assure  us,  and  prove  us 
If  we  dream. 


275 


A   BABY'S   EPITAPH 


APRIL  made  me  :  winter  laid  me  here  away  asleep. 
Bright  as  Maytime  was  my  daytime  ;  night  is  soft 
and  deep : 
Though  the  morrow  bring  forth  sorrow,  well  are  ye  that 
weep. 

Ye  that  held  me  dear  beheld  me   not  a  twelvemonth 

long  : 
All  the  while  ye  saw  me  smile,  ye  knew  not  whence 

the  song 
Came  that   made    me   smile,    and   laid    me    here,    and 

wrought  you  wrong. 

Angels,  calling  from  your  brawling  world  one  undefiled, 
Homeward    bade   ma,    and    forbade    me    here    to    rest 

beguiled  : 
Here  I  sleep  not:  pass,  and  weep  not  here  upon  your 

child. 


276 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  HENRY 
TAYLOR 


FOURSCORE  and  five  times  has  the  gradual  year 
Risen  and  fulfilled  its  days  of  youth  and  eld 

Since  first  the  child's  eyes  opening  first  beheld 
Light,  who  now  leaves  behind  to  help  us  here 
Light  shed  from  song  as  starlight  from  a  sphere 

Serene  as  summer;   song  whose  charm  compelled 

The  sovereign  soul  made  flesh  in  Artevelde 
To  stand  august  before  us  and  austere, 
Half  sad  with  mortal  knowledge,  all  sublime 
With  trust  that  takes  no  taint  from  change  or  time. 
Trust  in  man's  might  of  manhood.     Strong  and  sage, 

Clothed  round  with  reverence  of  remembering  hearts. 
He,  twin-born  with  our  nigh  departing  age, 

Into  the  light  of  peace  and  fame  departs. 


277 


IN  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  WILLIAM 
INCHBOLD 


FAREWELL  :  how  should  not  such  as  thou  fare  well, 
Though  we  fare  ill  that  love  thee,  and  that  live. 
And  know,  whate'er  the  days  wherein  we  dwell 
May  give  us,  thee  again  they  will  not  give? 

Peace,  rest,  and  sleep  are  all  we  know  of  death, 
And  all  we  dream  of  comfort:  yet  for  thee, 

Whose  breath  of  life  was  bright  and  strenuous  breath. 
We  think  the  change  is  other  than  we  see. 

The  seal  of  sleep  set  on  thine  eyes  to-day 
Surely  can  seal  not  up  the  keen  swift  light 

That  lit  them  once  for  ever.     Night  can  slay 
None  save  the  children  of  the  womb  of  night. 

The  fire  that  burns  up  dawn  to  bring  forth  noon 
Was  father  of  thy  spirit :  how  shouldst  thou 

Die  as  they  die  for  whom  the  sun  and  moon 
Are  silent?     Thee  the  darkness  holds  not  now  : 

Them,  while  they  looked  upon  the  light,  and  deemed 
That  life  was  theirs  for  living  in  the  sun, 

The  darkness  held  in  bondage  :   and  they  dreamed, 
W1h>  kiuw  not  that  such  life  as  theirs  was  none. 

278 


IN  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  WILLIAM  INCHBOLD 

To  thee  the  sun  spake,  and  the  morning  sang 
Notes  deep  and  clear  as  life  or  heaven  :  the  sea 

That  sounds  for  them  but  wild  waste  music  rang 
Notes  that  were  lost  not  when  they  rang  for  thee. 

The  mountains  clothed  with  light  and  night  and  change, 
The  lakes  alive  with  wind  and  cloud  and  sun 

Made  answer,  by  constraint  sublime  and  strange, 
To  the  ardent  hand  that  bade  thy  will  be  done. 

We  may  not  bid  the  mountains  mourn,  the  sea 
That  lived  and  lightened  from  thine  hand  again 

Moan,  as  of  old  would  men  that  mourned  as  we 
A  man  beloved,  a  man  elect  of  men, 

A  man  that  loved  them.     Vain,  divine  and  vain. 

The  dream  that  touched  with  thoughts  or  tears  of  ours 

The  spirit  of  sense  that  lives  in  sun  and  rain. 

Sings  out  in  birds,  and  breathes  and  fades  in  flowers. 

Not  for  our  joy  they  live,  and  for  our  grief 

They  die  not.  Though  thine  eye  be  closed,  thine  hand 

Powerless  as  mine  to  paint  them,  not  a  leaf 
In  English  woods  or  glades  of  Switzerland 

Falls  earlier  now,  fades  faster.     All  our  love 

Moves  not  our  mother's  changeless  heart,  who  gives 

A  little  light  to  eyes  and  stars  above, 

A  little  life  to  each  man's  heart  that  lives. 

279 


IN  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  WILLIAM   INCIIBOLD 

A  little  life  to  heaven  and  earth  and  sea. 

To  stars  and  souls  revealed  of  night  and  day, 

And  change,  the  one  thing  changeless  :  yet  shall  she 
Cease  too,  perchance,  and  perish.     Who  shall  say? 

Our  mother  Nature,  dark  and  sweet  as  sleep. 

And  strange  as  life  and  strong  as  death,  holds  fast, 

Even  as  she  holds  our  hearts  alive,  the  deep 
Dumb  secret  of  her  first-born  births  and  last. 

But  this,  we  know,  shall  cease  not  till  the  strife 
Of  nights  and  days  and  fears  and  hopes  find  end  ; 

This,  through  the  brief  eternities  of  life. 

Endures,  and  calls  from  death  a  living  friend  ; 

The  love  made  strong  with  knowledge,  whence  confirmed 
The  whole  soul  takes  assurance,  and  the  past 

(So  by  time's  measure,  not  by  memory's,  termed) 
Lives  present  life,  and  mingles  first  with  last. 

I,  now  long  since  thy  guest  of  many  days. 

Who  found  thy  hearth  a  brother's,  and  with  thee 

Tracked  in  and  out  the  lines  of  rolling  bays 
And  banks  and  gulfs  and  reaches  of  the  sea  — 

Deep  dens  wherein  the  wrestling  water  sobs 
And  pants  with  restless  pain  of  refluent  breath 

Till  all  the  sunless  hollow  sounds  and  throbs 
With  ebb  and  How  of  eddies  dark  as  death  — 

280 


IN  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  WILLIAM  INCHBOLD 

I  know  not  what  more  glorious  world,  wliat  waves 
More  bright  with  life,  —  if  brighter  aught  may  live 

Than  those  that  filled  and  fled  their  tidal  caves  — 
May  now  give  back  the  love  thou  hast  to  give. 

Tintagel,  and  the  long  Trebarwith  sand, 

Lone  Camelford,  and  Boscastle  divine 
With  dower  of  southern  blossom,  bright  and  bland 

Above  the  roar  of  granite-baffled  brine, 

Shall  hear  no  more  by  joyous  night  or  day 

From  downs  or  causeways  good  to  rove  and  ride 

Or  feet  of  ours  or  horse-hoofs  urge  their  way 
That  sped  us  here  and  there  by  tower  and  tide. 

The  headlands  and  the  hollows  and  the  waves, 
For  all  our  love,  forget  us:   where  I  am 

Thou  art  not :   deeper  sleeps  the  shadow  on  graves 
Than  in  the  sunless  gulf  that  once  we  swam. 

Thou  hast  swum  too  soon  the  sea  of  death  :  for  us 
Too  soon,  but  if  truth  bless  love's  blind  belief 

Faith,  born  of  hope  and  memory,  says  not  thus  : 
And  joy  for  thee  for  me  should  mean  not  grief. 

And  joy  for  thee,  if  ever  soul  of  man 

Found  joy  in  change  and  life  of  ampler  birth 

Than  here  pens  in  the  spirit  for  a  span. 

Must  be  the  life  that  doul)t  calls  death  on  earth. 

281 


IN  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  WILLIAM  INCHBOLD 

For  if,  beyond  the  shadow  and  the  sleep, 
A  place  there  be  for  souls  without  a  stain, 

Where  peace  is  perfect,  and  delight  more  deep 
Than  seas  or  skies  that  change  and  shine  again, 

There  none  of  all  unsullied  souls  that  live 
May  hold  a  surer  station  :   none  may  lend 

More  light  to  hope's  or  memory's  lamp,  nor  give 

More  joy  than  thine  to  those  that  called  thee  friend. 

Yea,  joy  from  sorrow's  barren  womb  is  born 
When  faith  begets  on  grief  the  godlike  child  : 

As  midnight  yearns  with  starry  sense  of  morn 
In  Arctic  summers,  though  the  sea  wax  wild, 

So  love,  whose  name  is  memory,  thrills  at  heart, 
Remembering  and  rejoicing  in  thee,  now 

Alive  where  love  may  dream  not  what  thou  art 

But  knows  that  higher  than  hope  or  love  art  thou. 

♦  Whatever  heaven,  if  heaven  at  all  may  be, 
Await  the  sacred  souls  of  good  men  dead. 

There,  now  we  mourn  who  loved  him  here,  is  he.' 
So,  sweet  and  stern  of  speech,  the  Roman  said, 

Erect  in  grief,  in  trust  erect,  and  gave 

His  deathless  dead  a  deathless  life  even  here 

Where  day  bears  down  on  day  as  wave  on  wave 
And  not  man's  smile  fades  faster  than  his  tear. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  WILLIAM  INCHBOLD 

Albeit  this  gift  be  given  not  me  to  give, 

Nor  power  be  mine  to  break  time's  silent  spell, 

Not  less  shall  love  that  dies  not  while  I  live 
Bid  thee,  beloved  in  life  and  death,  farewell. 


283 


NEW    YEAR'S    DAY 


NEW  year,  be  good  to  England.      Bid  her  name 
Shine  sunlike  as  of  old  on  all  the  sea  : 
Make  strong  her  soul  :  set  all  her  spirit  free  : 
Bind  fast  her  homeborn  foes  with  links  of  shame 
More  strong  than  iron  and  more  keen  than  flame  : 
Seal  up  their  lips  for  shame's  sake  :   so  shall  she 
Who  was  the  light  that  lightened  freedom  be, 
For  all  false  tongues,  in  all  men's  eyes  the  same. 

O  last-born  child  of  Time,  earth's  eldest  lord, 
God  undiscrowned  of  godhead,  who  for  man 
Begets  all  good  and  evil  things  that  live. 
Do  thou,  his  new-begotten  son,  implored 

Of  hearts  that  hope  and  fear  not,  make  thy  span 
Bright  with  such  light  as  history  bids  thee  give. 

January  i,  1889. 


284 


TO    SIR     RICHARD     F.    BURTON 

(on    his    translation    of    the    ARABIAN    NIGHTS) 

WESTWARD  the  sun  sinks,  grave  and  glad  ;  but  tar 
Eastward,  with  laughter  and  tempestuous  tears, 
Cloud,  rain,  and  splendour  as  of  orient  spears. 
Keen  as  the  sea's  thrill  toward  a  kindling  star, 
The  sundawn  breaks  the  barren  twilight's  bar 
And  fires  the  mist  and  slays  it.     Years  on  years 
Vanish,  but  he  that  hearkens  eastward  hears 
Bright  music  from  the  world  where  shadows  are. 

Where  shadows  are  not  shadows.      Hand  in  hand 
A  man's  word  bids  them  rise  and  smile  and  stand 

And  triumph.     All  that  glorious  orient  glows 
Defiant  of  the  dusk.     Our  twilight  land 

Trembles  ;  but  all  the  heaven  is  all  one  rose. 
Whence  laughing  love  dissolves  her  frosts  and  snows. 


^85 


NELL    GWYN 


SWEET  heart,  that  no  taint  of  the  throne  or  the  stage 
Could  touch  with  unclean  transformation,  or  alter 
To  the  likeness  of  courtiers  whose  consciences  falter 
At  the  smile  or  the  frown,  at  the  mirth  or  the  rage, 
Of  a  master  whom  chance  could  inflame  or  assuage. 
Our  Lady  of  Laughter,  invoked  in  no  psalter, 
Adored  of  no  faithful  that  cringe  and  that  palter. 
Praise  be  with  thee  yet  from  a  hag-ridden  age. 

Our  Lady  of  Pity  thou  wast :   and  to  thee 

All  England,  whose  sons  are  the  sons  of  the  sea, 

Gives  thanks,  and  will  hear  not  if  history  snarls 
When  the  name  of  the  friend  of  her  sailors  is  spoken  : 
And  thy  lover  she  cannot  but  love  —  by  the  token 

That  thy  name  was  the  last  on  the  lips  of  King  Charles. 


286 


CALIBAN    ON    ARIEL 

'His  backward  voice  is  to  utter  foul  speeches  and  to  detract ' 

THE  tongue  is  loosed  of  that  most  lying  slave, 
Whom  stripes  may  move,  not  kindness.     Listen  :    'Lo, 
The  real  god  of  song,  Lord  Stephano, 
That's  a  brave  god,  if  ever  god  were  brave. 
And  bears  celestial  liquor  :  but,'  the  knave 

(A  most  ridiculous  monster)  howls,  'we  know 

From  Ariel's  lips  what  springs  of  poison  flow, 

The  chicken-heart  blasphemer  !     Hear  him  rave  ! ' 

Thou  poisonous  slave,  got  by  the  devil  himself 
Upon  thy  wicked  dam,  the  witch  whose  name 
Is  darkness,  and  the  sun  her  eyes'  ofience, 
Though  hell's  hot  sewerage  breed  no  loathlier  elf, 
Men  cry  not  shame  upon  thee,  seeing  thy  shame 
So  perfect :  they  but  bid  thee  — '  Hag-seed,  hence  I ' 


287 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 


O   DAUGHTER,  why  do  ye  laugh  and  weep, 
One  with  another? 
For  woe  to  wake  and  for  will  to  sleep. 
Mother,  my  mother. 

But  weep  ye  vvinna  the  day  ye  wed, 

One  with  another. 
For  tears  are  dry  when  the  springs  are  dead, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

Too  long  have  your  tears  run  down  like  rain, 

One  with  another. 
For  a  long  love  lost  and  a  sweet  love  slain, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

Too  long  have  your  tears  dripped  down  like  dews 

One  with  another. 
For  a  knight  that  my  sire  and  my  brethren  slew, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

Let  past  things  perish  and  dead  griefs  lie. 

One  with  another. 
O  fain  would  I  weep  not,  and  fain  would  I  die. 

Mother,  my  mother. 

288 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

Fair  gifts  we  give  ye,  to  laugh  and  live, 

One  with  another. 
But  sair  and  strange  are  the  gifts  I  give. 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  give  for  your  father's  love? 

One  with  another. 
Fruits  full  few  and  thorns  enough. 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  give  for  your  mother's  sake  ? 

One  witli  another. 
Tears  to  brew  and  tares  to  bake, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  give  your  sister  Jean? 

One  with  another. 
A  bier  to  build  and  a  babe  to  wean. 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  3'e  give  your  sister  Nell  ? 

One  with  another. 
The  end  of  life  and  beginning  of  hell. 

Mother,  mv  mother. 

And  what  will  3'e  give  your  sister  Kate? 

One  with  another. 
Earth's  door  and  hell's  gate, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

2  89 


■c: 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

And  what  will  ye  give  your  brother  Will? 

One  with  another. 
Life's  grief  and  world's  ill, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  3'e  give  your  brother  Hugh? 

One  with  another. 
A  bed  of  turf  to  turn  into, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  give  your  brother  John? 

One  with  another. 
The  dust  of  death  to  feed  upon, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  give  your  bauld  bridegroom? 

One  with  another. 
A  barren  bed  and  an  empty  room. 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  give  your  bridegroom's  friend? 

One  with  another. 
A  weary  foot  to  the  wear}-  end, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  give  your  blithe  bridesmaid? 

One  with  another. 
Grief  to  sew  and  sorrow  to  braid. 

Mother,  my  mother. 

290 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

And  what  will  ye  drink  the  day  ye're  wed? 

One  with  another. 
But  ae  drink  of  the  wan  well-head, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  whatten  a  water  is  that  to  draw  ? 

One  with  another. 
We  maun  draw  thereof  a',  we  maun  drink  thereof  a'. 

Mother,  m}^  mother. 

And  what  shall  ye  pu'  w^here  the  well  rins  deep? 

One  with  another. 
Green  herb  of  death,  fine  flower  of  sleep, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

Are  there  ony  fishes  that  swim  therein? 

One  with  another. 
The  white  fish  grace,  and  the  red  fish  sin, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

Are  there  ony  birds  that  sing  thereby? 

One  with  another. 
O  when  they  come  thither  they  sing  till  they  die, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

Is  there  ony  draw-bucket  to  that  well-head? 

One  with  another. 
There's  a  wee  well-bucket  hangs  low  by  a  thread, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

201 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

Aiul  whatlcn  a  thread  is  that  to  spin? 

Oiu'  witli  another. 
It's  green  tor  grace,  and  it's  black  for  sin, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  strew  on  your  bride-chamber  floor? 

One  with  another. 
But  one  strewing  and  no  more, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  whatten  a  strewing  shall  that  one  be? 

One  with  another. 
The  dust  of  earth  and  sand  of  the  sea, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  take  to  build  your  bed? 

One  with  another. 
Sighing  and  shame  and  the  bones  of  the  dead. 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  wear  for  your  wedding  gown? 

One  with  another. 
Grass  for  the  green  and  dust  for  the  brown, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  wear  for  your  wedding  lace? 

One  with  another. 
A  heavy  heart  and  a  hidden  face, 

Mother,  my   mother. 

292 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

And  what  will  ye  wear  for  a  wreath  to  your  head  ? 

One  with  another. 
Ash  for  the  white  and  blood  for  the  red, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  will  ye  wear  for  your  wedding  ring? 

One  with  another. 
A  weary  thought  for  a  weary  thing, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  shall  the  chimes  and  the  bell-ropes  play? 

One  with  another. 
A  weary  tune  on  a  wear}^  day, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

And  what  shall  be  sung  for  your  wedding  song? 

One  with  another. 
A  weary  word  of  a  weary  wrong, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

The  world's  way  with  me  runs  back. 

One  with  another, 
Wedded  in  white  and  buried  in  black, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

The  world's  day  and  the  world's  night, 

One  with  another, 
Wedded  in  black  and  buried  in  white, 

Mother,  my  mother. 
r 

293 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

The  world's  bliss  and  the  world's  teen, 

One  with  another, 
It's  red  for  white  and  it's  black  for  green. 

Mother,  my  mother. 

The  world's  will  and  the  world's  way. 

One  with  another. 
It's  sighing  for  night  and  crying  for  day, 

Mother,  my  mother. 

The  world's  good  and  the  world's  worth, 

One  with  another, 
It's  earth  to  flesh  and  it's  flesh  to  earth. 

Mother,  my  mother. 


When  she  came  out  at  the  kirkyard  gate, 

(One  with  another) 
The  bridegroom's  mother  was  there  in  wait 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

O  mother,  where  is  my  great  green  bed, 

(One  with  another) 
Silk  at  the  foot  and  gold  at  the  head, 

Mother,  my  mother? 

Yea,  it  is  ready,  the  silk  and  the  gold, 
One  with  another. 

294 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

But  line  it  well  that  I  lie  not  cold, 
Mother,  my  mother. 

She  laid  her  cheek  to  the  velvet  and  vair, 

One  with  another ; 
She  laid  her  arms  up  under  her  hair. 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

Her  gold  hair  fell  through  her  arms  fu'  low, 

One  with  another : 
Lord  God,  bring  me  out  of  woe  ! 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

Her  gold  hair  fell  in  the  gay  reeds  green, 

One  with  another  : 
Lord  God,  bring  me  out  of  teen  I 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 


O  mother,  where  is  my  lady  gone? 

(One  with  another.) 
In  the  bride-chamber  she  makes  sore  moan 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

Her  hair  falls  over  the  velvet  and  vair, 

(One  with  another) 
Her  great  soft  tears  fall  over  her  hair, 

(Mother,  m}-  mother.) 

295 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

When  he  came  into  llie  bride's  chamber, 

(One  with  another) 
Her  hands  were  like  pale  yellow  amber. 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

Her  tears  made  specks  in  the  velvet  and  vair, 

(One  with  another) 
The  seeds  of  the  reeds  made  specks  in  her  hair. 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

He  kissed  her  under  the  gold  on  her  head  ; 

(One  with  another) 
The  lids  of  her  eyes  were  like  cold  lead. 

(Mother,  m}'^  mother.) 

He  kissed  her  under  the  fall  of  her  chin ; 

(One  with  another) 
There  was  right  little  blood  therein. 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

He  kissed  her  under  her  shoulder  sweet ; 

(One  with  another) 
Her  throat  was  weak,  with  little  lieat. 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

He  kissed  her  down  b}'  her  breast-flowers  red. 

One  with  another ; 
They  were  like  river-flowers  dead. 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

296 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

What  ails  you  now  o"  your  weeping,  wife? 

(One  with  another.) 
It  ails  me  sair  o'  my  very  life. 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

What  ails  you  now  o'  your  weary  ways? 

(One  with  another.) 
It  ails  me  sair  o'  my  long  life-days. 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

Nay,  ye  are  young,  ye  are  over  fair. 

(One  with  another.) 
Though  I  be  young,  what  needs  ye  care  ? 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

Nay,  ye  are  fair,  ye  are  over  sweet. 

(One  with  another.) 
Though  I  be  fair,  what  needs  ye  greet? 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

Nay,  ye  are  mine  while  I  hold  my  life. 

(One  with  another.) 
O  fool,  will  ye  marry  the  worm  for  a  wife? 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

Nay,  ye  are  mine  while  I  have  my  breath. 

(One  with  another.) 
O  fool,  will  ye  marry  the  dust  of  death? 

(Mother,  my  mother.) 

297 


THE    WEARY    WEDDING 

Yea,  ye  are  mine,  we  arc  handfast  wed. 

One  with  another. 
Nay,  I  am  no  man's  ;  nay,  I  am  dead. 

Mother,  my  mother. 


298 


o 


THE    WINDS 


WEARY  fa'  the  east  wind, 
And  weary  fa'  the  west : 


And  gin  I  were  vmder  the  wan  waves  w^ide 
I  wot  weel  wad  I  rest. 


O  weary  fa'  the  north  wind, 

And  weary  fa'  the  south  : 
The  sea  w^ent  ower  my  good  lord's  head 

Or  ever  he  kissed  my  mouth. 

Weary  fa'  the  windward  rocks, 

And  weary  fa'  the  lee  : 
They  might  hae  sunken  sevenscore  ships, 

And  let  my  love's  gang  free. 

And  weary  fa'  ye,  mariners  a', 

And  weary  fa'  the  sea  : 
It  might  hae  taken  an  hundred  men, 

And  let  my  ae  love  be. 


299 


A    LYKE-WAKE    SONG 


FAIR  of  face,  full  of  pride, 
Sit  ye  down  by  a  dead  man's  side. 

Ye  sang  songs  a'  the  day  : 

Sit  down  at  night  in  the  red  worm's  way. 

Proud  ye  were  a'  day  long  : 
Ye'll  be  but  lean  at  evensong. 

Ye  had  gowd  kells  on  your  hair : 
Nae  man  kens  what  ye  were. 

Ye  set  scorn  by  the  silken  stuff : 
Now  the  grave  is  clean  enough. 

Ye  set  scorn  by  the  rubis  ring  : 
Now  the  worm  is  a  saft  sweet  thing. 

Fine  gold  and  blithe  fair  face, 
Ye  are  come  to  a  grimly  place. 

Gold  hair  and  glad  grey  een, 
Nae  man  kens  if  ye  have  been. 


300 


A    REIVER'S    NECK-VERSE 


SOME  die  singing,  and  some  die  swinging, 
And  weel  mot  a'  they  be  : 
Some  die  playing,  and  some  die  praying, 
And  I  wot  sae  winna  we,  my  dear, 
And  I  wot  sae  winna  we. 

Some  die  sailing,  and  some  die  wailing. 

And  some  die  fair  and  free  : 
Some  die  flyting,  and  some  die  fighting. 

But  I  for  a  fause  love's  fee,  my  dear. 

But  I  for  a  fause  love's  fee. 

Some  die  laughing,  and  some  die  quaffing. 

And  some  die  high  on  tree  : 
Some  die  spinning,  and  some  die  sinning, 

But  faggot  and  fire  for  3^e,  my  dear. 

Faggot  and  fire  for  ye. 

Some  die  weeping,  and  some  die  sleeping. 

And  some  die  under  sea  : 
Some  die  ganging,  and  some  die  hanging, 

And  a  twine  of  a  tow  for  me,  my  dear, 

A  twine  of  a  tow  for  me. 


30T 


THE   WITCH-MOTHER 


^  /'^  WHERE  will  ye  gang  to  and  where  will  ye  sleep, 

V_y      Against  the  night  begins?  ' 
'  My  bed  is  made  wi '  cauld  sorrows, 
M}'  sheets  are  lined  wi '  sins. 

'  And  a  sair  grief  sitting  at  my  foot. 

And  a  sair  grief  at  my  head  ; 
And  dule  to  lay  me  my  laigh  pillows. 

And  teen  till  I  be  dead. 

'  And  the  rain  is  sair  upon  my  face, 

And  sair  upon  my  hair ; 
And  the  wind  upon  my  wear}'^  mouth, 

That  never  may  man  kiss  mair. 

*And  the  snow  upon  my  heavy  lips, 

That  never  shall  drink  nor  eat ; 
And  shame  to  cledding,  and  woe  to  wedding. 

And  pain  to  drink  and  meat. 

'  But  woe  be  to  my  bairns'  Hither, 

And  ever  ill  fare  he  : 
He  has  tane  a  braw  bride  hame  to  him, 

Cast  out  my  bairns  and  me.' 

302 


THE    WITCH-MOTHER 

'  And  what  shall  they  have  to  their  marriage  meat 

This  day  they  twain  are  wed  ? ' 
'  Meat  of  strong  crying,  salt  of  sad  sighing, 

And  God  restore  the  dead.' 

'  And  what  shall  they  have  to  their  wedding  wine 

This  day  they  twain  are  wed?  ' 
'  Wine  of  weeping,  and  draughts  of  sleeping, 

And  God  raise  up  the  dead.' 

She's  tane  her  to  the  wild  woodside, 

Between  the  flood  and  fell : 
She's  sought  a  rede  against  her  need 

Of  the  fiend  that  bides  in  hell. 

She's  tane  her  to  the  wan  burnside, 

She's  wrought  wi'  sang  and  spell : 
She's  plighted  her  soul  for  doom  and  dole 

To  the  fiend  that  bides  in  hell. 

She's  set  her  young  son  to  her  breast, 

Her  auld  son  to  her  knee  : 
Says,  '  Weel  for  you  the  night,  bairnies, 

And  weel  the  morn  for  me.' 

She  looked  fu'  lang  in  their  een,  sighing. 

And  sair  and  sair  grat  she  : 
She  has  slain  her  young  son  at  her  breast, 

Her  auld  son  at  her  knee. 

303 


THE    WITCII-MOTHER 

She's  sodden  their  flesh  w'v  saft  water, 
She's  mixed  their  blood  with  wine  : 

She's  tane  her  to  the  bravv  bride-house, 
Where  a'  were  boun'  to  dine. 

She  poured  the  red  wine  in  his  cup, 

And  his  een  grew  fain  to  greet : 
She  set  the  baked  meats  at  his  hand, 

And  bade  him  drink  and  eat. 

Says,  '  Eat  your  fill  of  your  flesh,  my  lord, 
And  drink  your  fill  of  your  wine, 

For  a'  thing's  yours  and  only  yours 
That  has  been  yours  and  mine.' 

Says,  '  Drink  3'^our  fill  of  your  wine,  my  lord. 
And  eat  your  fill  of  your  bread  : 

I  would  they  were  quick  in  my  body  again, 
Or  I  that  bare  them  dead.' 

He  struck  her  head  frae  her  fair  body. 

And  dead  for  grief  he  fell : 
And  there  were  twae  mair  sangs  in  heaven, 

And  twae  mair  sauls  in  hell. 


304 


THE    BRIDE'S    TRAGEDY 


^  T^HE  wind  wears  roun',  the  day  wears  doun, 

1       The  moon  is  grisly  grey  ; 
There's  nae  man  rides  by  the  mirk  muirsides, 
Nor  down  the  dark  Tyne's  way.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wand  and  whirls  the  whin. 


'  And  winna  ye  w^atch  the  night  wi'  me. 

And  winna  ye  wake  the  morn? 
Foul  shame  it  were  that  your  ae  mither 
Should  brook  her  ae  son's  scorn.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  llie  whin. 


'  O  mither,  I  may  not  sleep  nor  stay. 

My  weird  is  ill  to  dree  ; 
For  a  fause  faint  lord  of  the  south  seaboard 
Wad  win  my  bride  of  me.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  wliin. 

305 


THE    BRIDE'S    TRAGEDY 

'  The  winds  arc  Strang,  and  llic  niglits  are  lang, 

And  the  ways  are  sair  to  ride  : 
And  I  maun  gang  to  wreak  my  wrang, 
And  ye  maun  bide  and  bide.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  tlie  wind  and  w  hirls  tlie  whin. 


'  Gin  I  maun  bide  and  bide,  Willie, 

I  wot  my  weird  is  sair  : 
Weel  may  ye  get  ye  a  light  love  yet. 
But  never  a  mither  mair.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  w'hin. 


'  O  gin  the  morrow^  be  great  wi'  sorrow. 

The  wyte  be  yours  of  a' : 
But  though  ye  slay  me  that  haud  and  stay  me. 
The  weird  ye  w^ill  maun  fa'.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 


When  cocks  were  crawing  and  day  was  dawing. 

He's  boun'  him  forth  to  ride  : 
And  the  ae  first  may  he's  met  that  day 
Was  fause  Earl  Robert's  bride. 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  wliirls  tlie  whin. 

306 


THE    BRIDE'S    TRAGEDY 

O  blithe  and  braw  were  the  bride-folk  a', 

But  sad  and  saft  rade  she  ; 
And  sad  as  doom  was  her  faiise  bridegroom, 
But  fair  and  fain  was  he. 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 


'  And  winna  ye  bide,  sae  saft  ye  ride, 

And  winna  ye  speak  wi'  me? 
For  mony's  the  word  and  the  kindly  word 
I  have  spoken  aft  wi'  thee.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 


'  My  lamp  was  lit  yestreen,  Willie, 

My  window-gate  was  wide  : 
But  ye  camena  nigh  me  till  day  came  by  me 
And  made  me  not  your  bride.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 


He's  set  his  hand  to  her  bridle-rein. 

He's  turned  her  horse  away  : 
And  the  cry  was  sair,  and  the  wratii  was  mair. 
And  fast  and  fain  rode  they. 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 

307 


THE    BRIDE'S    TRAGEDY 

But  when  tliev  came  by  Cliollcrloid, 

I  wot  tlie  ways  were  fell ; 
For  broad  and  brown  the  spate  swang  down, 
And  the  lilt  was  mirk  as  hell. 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wand  and  whirls  the  whin. 


'  And  will  ye  ride  yon  fell  water, 

Or  will  ye  bide  for  fear? 
Nae  scathe  ye'll  win  o'  your  father's  kin. 
Though  they  should  slay  me  here.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 


'  I  had  liefer  ride  yon  fell  w^ater, 

Though  strange  it  be  to  ride, 
Than  I  wad  stand  on  the  fair  green  strand 
And  thou  be  slain  beside.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 


•  I  had  liefer  swim  yon  wild  water, 

Though  sair  it  be  to  bide, 
Than  I  wad  stand  at  a  strange  man's  hand, 
To  be  a  strange  man's  bride.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 

30S 


THE    BRIDE'S    TRAGEDY 

'I  had  liefer  drink  yon  dark  water, 

Wi'  the  stanes  to  make  my  bed, 
And  the  faem  to  hide  me,  and  thou  beside  me. 
Than  I  wad  see  thee  dead.' 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 

He's  kissed  her  twice,  he's  kissed  her  thrice. 

On  cheek  and  lip  and  chin  : 
He's  wound  her  rein  to  his  hand  again. 
And  lightly  they  leapt  in. 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 


Their  hearts  were  high  to  live  or  die. 

Their  steeds  were  stark  of  limb  : 
But  the  stream  was  starker,  the  spate  was  darker. 
Than  man  might  live  and  swim. 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 


The  first  ae  step  they  strode  therein. 

It  smote  them  foot  and  knee  : 
But  ere  they  wan  to  the  mid  water 
The  spate  was  as  the  sea. 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 

309 


THE    BRIDE'S    TRAGEDY 

But  when  they  wan  to  the  mid  water, 

It  smote  them  hand  and  head  : 
And  nae  man  knows  but  the  wave  that  flows 
Where  they  He  drowned  and  dead. 
In,  in,  out  and  in, 
Blaws  the  wind  and  whirls  the  whin. 


310 


A  JACOBITE'S   FAREWELL 

1716 


THERE'S  nae  mair  lands  to  tyne,  my  dear, 
And  nae  mair  lives  to  gie  : 
Though  a  man  think  sair  to  live  nae  mair, 
There's  but  one  day  to  die. 

For  a'  things  come  and  a'  days  gane, 

What  needs  ye  rend  your  hair? 
But  kiss  me  till  the  morn's  morrow, 

Then  I'll  kiss  ye  nae  mair. 

O  lands  are  lost  and  life's  losing, 

And  what  were  they  to  gie  ? 
Fu'  mony  a  man  gives  all  he  can. 

But  nae  man  else  gives  ye. 

Our  king  wons  ower  the  sea's  water, 

And  I  in  prison  sair : 
But  I'll  win  out  the  morn's  morrow, 

And  ye'll  see  me  nae  mair. 


311 


A    JACOBITE'S    EXILE 

1746 


THE  weary  day  rins  down  and  dies, 
The  weary  night  wears  through  : 
And  never  an  hour  is  fair  wi'  flower, 
And  never  a  flower  wi'  dew. 

I  would  the  day  were  night  for  me, 

I  would  the  night  were  day  : 
For  then  would  I  stand  in  my  ain  fair  land. 

As  now  in  dreams  I  may. 

O  lordly  flow  the  Loire  and  Seine, 

And  loud  the  dark  Durance  : 
But  bonnier  shine  the  braes  of  Tyne 

Than  a'  the  fields  of  France  ; 
And  the  waves  of  Till  that  speak  sae  still 

Gleam  goodlier  where  they  glance. 

O  weel  were  they  that  fell  fighting 

On  dark  Drumossie's  day  : 
They  keep  their  hame  avont  thr  faeni. 

And  \vi'  die  far  away. 

312 


A    JACOBITE'S    EXILE 

O  sound  they  sleep,  and  saft,  and  deep, 

But  night  and  day  wake  we ; 
And  ever  between  the  sea-banks  green 

Sounds  loud  the  sundering  sea. 

And  ill  we  sleep,  sae  sair  we  weep. 

But  sweet  and  fast  sleep  they  ; 
And  the  mool  that  haps  them  roun'  and  laps  them 

Is  e'en  their  country's  clay  ; 
But  the  land  we  tread  that  are  not  dead 

Is  strange  as  night  by  day. 

Strange  as  night  in  a  strange  man's  sight, 

Though  fair  as  dawn  it  be  : 
For  what  is  here  that  a  stranger's  cheer 

Should  yet  wax  blithe  to  see? 

The  hills  stand  steep,  the  dells  lie  deep, 

The  fields  are  green  and  gold  : 
The  hill-streams  sing,  and  the  hill-sides  ring. 

As  ours  at  home  of  old. 

But  hills  and  flowers  are  nane  of  ours. 

And  ours  are  oversea  : 
And  the  kind  strange  land  whereon  we  stand, 

It  wotsna  what  were  we 
Or  ever  we  came,  wi'  scathe  and  shame, 

To  try  what  end  might  be. 

313 


A  JACOBITE'S    EXILE 

Scathe,  and  shame,  and  a  waefu'  name, 

And  a  weary  time  and  strange, 
Have  they  that  seeing  a  weird  for  dreeing 

Can  die,  and  cannot  change. 

Shame  and  scorn  may  we  thole  that  mourn, 

Though  sair  be  they  to  dree  : 
But  ill  may  we  bide  the  thoughts  we  hide, 

Mair  keen  than  w'ind  and  sea. 

Ill  may  we  thole  the  night's  watches, 

And  ill  the  weary  day : 
And  the  dreams  that  keep  the  gates  of  sleep, 

A  waefu'  gift  gie  they  ; 
For  the  sangs  they  sing  us,  the  sights  they  bring  us, 

The  morn  blaws  all  away. 

On  Aikenshaw  the  sun  blinks  braw, 

The  burn  rins  blithe  and  fain  : 
There's  nought  wi'  me  I  wadna  gie 

To  look  thereon  again. 

On  Keilder-side  the  wind  blaws  wide  : 

There  sounds  nae  hunting-horn 
That  rings  sae  sweet  as  the  winds  that  beat 

Round  banks  where  Tyne  is  born. 

The  Wansbeck  sings  with  all  her  springs, 
The  bents  and  braes  give  ear ; 

314 


A   JACOBITE'S    EXILE 

But  the  wood  that  rings  wi'  the  sang  she  sings 

I  may  not  see  nor  hear ; 
For  far  and  far  thae  blithe  burns  are, 

And  strange  is  a'  thing  near. 

The  light  there  lightens,  the  day  there  brightens, 

The  loud  wind  there  lives  free  : 
Nae  light  comes  nigh  me  or  wind  blaws  by  me 

That  I  wad  hear  or  see. 

But  O  gin  I  were  there  again, 

Afar  ayont  the  faem, 
Cauld  and  dead  in  the  sweet  saft  bed 

That  haps  my  sires  at  hame  ! 

We'll  see  nae  mair  the  sea-banks  fair. 
And  the  sweet  grey  gleaming  sky. 

And  the  lordly  strand  of  Northumberland, 
And  the  goodly  towers  thereby  : 

And  none  shall  know  but  the  winds  that  blow 
The  graves  wherein  we  lie. 


315 


THE    TYNESIDE    WIDOW 


THERE'S  mony  a  man  loves  land  and  life, 
Loves  life  and  land  and  fee  ; 
And  mony  a  man  loves  fair  women, 
But  never  a  man  loves  me,  my  love, 
But  never  a  man  loves  me. 

O  weel  and  weel  for  a'  lovers, 

I  wot  weel  may  they  be  ; 
And  weel  and  weel  for  a'  fair  maidens. 

But  aye  mair  woe  for  me,  my  love. 

But  aye  mair  woe  for  me. 

O  weel  be  wi'  you,  ye  sma'  flowers, 

Ye  flowers  and  every  tree  ; 
And  weel  be  wi'  you,  a'  birdies. 

But  teen  and  tears  wi'  me,  my  love, 

But  teen  and  tears  wi'  me. 

O  weel  be  yours,  my  three  brethren. 

And  ever  weel  be  ye  ; 
Wi'  deeds  for  doing  and  loves  for  wooing. 

But  never  a  love  for  me,  my  love, 

But  never  a  love  for  me. 

316 


THE    TYNESIDE    WIDOW 

And  weel  be  yours,  my  seven  sisters, 

And  good  love-days  to  see. 
And  long  life-days  and  true  lovers, 

But  never  a  day  for  me,  my  love, 

But  never  a  day  for  me. 

Good  times  \vi'  you,  ye  bauld  riders, 

By  the  hieland  and  the  lee  ; 
And  by  the  leeland  and  by  the  hieland 

It's  weary  times  vv^i'  me,  my  love. 

It's  weary  times  wi'  me. 

Good  days  wi'  you,  ye  good  sailors, 

Sail  in  and  out  the  sea ; 
And  by  the  beaches  and  by  the  reaches 

It's  heavy  days  wi'  me,  my  love, 

It's  heavy  days  wi'  me. 

I  had  his  kiss  upon  my  mouth. 
His  bairn  upon  my  knee ; 

I  would  my  soul  and  body  were  twain. 

And  the  bairn  and  the  kiss  wi'  me,  my  love, 
And  the  bairn  and  the  kiss  wi'  me. 

The  bairn  down  in  the  mools,  my  dear, 
O  saft  and  saft  lies  she  ; 

I  would  the  mools  were  ower  my  head, 

And  the  young  bairn  fast  wi'  me,  my  love. 
And  the  young  bairn  fast  wi'  me. 

317 


THE    TYNESIDE    WIDOW 

The  father  under  the  faeni,  ni}-  dear, 

O  sound  and  sound  sleeps  he  ; 
I  would  the  faem  were  ower  my  face, 

And  the  father  lay  by  me,  my  love, 

And  the  father  lay  by  me. 

I  would  the  faem  were  ower  my  face. 

Or  the  mools  on  my  ee-bree  ; 
And  waking-time  with  a'  lovers. 

But  sleeping-time  wi'  me,  my  love, 

But  sleeping-time  wV  me. 

I  would  the  mools  were  meat  in  my  mouth, 

The  saut  faem  in  my  ee  ; 
And  the  land-worm  and  the  water-worm 

To  feed  fu'  sweet  on  me,  my  love, 

To  feed  fu'  sweet  on  me. 

My  life  is  sealed  with  a  seal  of  love, 
And  locked  with  love  for  a  key ; 

And  I  lie  wrang  and  I  wake  lang, 

But  ye  tak'  nae  thought  for  me,  my  love, 
But  ye  tak'  nae  thought  for  me. 

We  were  weel  fain  of  love,  my  dear, 

O  fain  and  fain  were  we  ; 
It  was  weel  with  a'  the  weary  world. 

But  O,  sae  weel  wi'  me,  my  love, 

But  O,  sae  weel  wi'  me. 

318 


THE    TYNESIDE    WIDOW 

We  were  nane  ower  mony  to  sleep,  my  dear, 
I  wot  we  were  but  three  ; 

And  never  a  bed  in  the  weary  world 

For  my  bairn  and  my  dear  and  me,  my  love, 
For  my  bairn  and  my  dear  and  me. 


319 


DEDICATION 


THE  years  are  many,  the  changes  more, 
vSince  wind  and  sun  on  the  wild  sweet  shore 
Where  Joyous  Gard  stands  stark  by  the  sea 
With  face  as  bright  as  in  years  of  yore 

Shone,  swept,  and  sounded,  and  hiughed  for  glee 
More  deep  than  a  man's  or  a  child's  may  be. 

On  a  day  when  summer  was  wild  and  glad. 
And  the  guests  of  the  wind  and  the  sun  were  we. 

The  light  that  lightens  from  seasons  clad 
With  darkness  now,  is  it  glad  or  sad? 

Not  sad  but  glad  should  it  shine,  meseems, 
On  eyes  yet  fain  of  the  joy  they  had. 

For  joy  was  there  with  us  ;  joy  that  gleams 
And  murmurs  yet  in  the  world  of  dreams 

Where  thought  holds  fast,  as  a  constant  W'arder, 
The  days  when  I  rode  by  moors  and  streams, 

Reining  my  rhymes  into  buo3'ant  order 
Through  honied  leagues  of  the  northland  border. 

Though  thought  or  memory  fade,  and  prove 
A  faithless  keeper,  a  thriftless  hoarder, 

321 


DEDICATION 

One  landmark  lu-vcr  can  change  remove, 
One  sign  can  the  years  efface  not.      Love, 

More  strong  than  death  or  than  doubt  may  be, 
Treads  down  their  strengths,  and  al^ides  above. 

Yea,  change  and  death  are  his  servants  :  we, 
Whom  love  of  the  dead  links  fast,  though  free, 

May  smile  as  they  that  beheld  the  dove 
Bear  home  her  signal  across  the  sea. 


INDEX  TO   POEMS 


INDEX    TO    POEMS 


AGE    AND    SONG    (TO    BARRY    CORNWALL) 

ARMADA,    THE 

AT    A    month's    end 

at  parting     . 

ave  atque  vale    . 

baby-bird 

baby's  epitaph,  a 

ballad  of  bath,  a 

ballad  of  dreamland, 

before    SUNSET 

birth-song,  a 

bride's  tragedy,  the 

bruno,  for  the  feast  of  giordano 

burton,  to  sir  richard  f. 

by  twilight 

by  the  wayside     . 

caliban  on  ariel 

catullum,  ad 

child's  song  . 

choriambics    . 

commonweal,  the 

complaint  of  lisa,  the 

cornwall,  in  memory  of  barry 


75 
205 

31 

IIO 

55 

254 
276 

248 

95 
102 

85 
305 

53 
285 

275 
267 

287 
179 
121 
108 
192 

47 

77 


INDEX    TO    POEMS 


PAGE 

DEDICATION,    1878  (TO  SIR  RICHARD  F.  BURTON)  181 

DEDICATION,     (TO    WILLIAM    BELL    SCOTT)               .  32I 

EPICEDE                 .......  80 

EX-VOTO                .......  90 

FORSAKEN    GARDEN,    A        ....              .  23 

FOUR    SONGS    OF    FOUR    SEASONS  : 

I.       WINTER    IN    NORTHUMBERLAND                .  1 25 

II.       SPRING    IN    TUSCANY                 .              .             .  I36 

III.  SUMMER    IN    AUVERGNE         .              .              .  I39 

IV.  AUTUMN  IN  CORNWALL  .  .  .  I42 
GAUTIER,  THEOPHILE  .  .  .  .  .  1 74 
GAUTIER,     MEMORIAL     VERSES     ON     THE     DEATH 

OF    TIlfeOPHILE                 .....  65 

gwyn,  nell    .......  286 

hugo  in  1877,  victor     .         .         .         .         .  i20 

hugo,  from  victor         .....  17i 

hugo,  to  victor    ......  82 

in  a  garden            ......  250 

in  obitum  tiieophili  poet^           .         .         .  1 78 

inferiae          .......  82 

inchbold,  in  memory  of  john  william        .  278 

interpreters,  the         .         .         .         .         .  27 1 

in  the  bay     .         .         .         .         .         .         .  ii 

in  time  of  mourning     .....  270 

jacobite's  exile,  a         .         .         .         .         .  312 

Jacobite's  farewell,    a         .         .         .         .  311 

kossuth,  to  louis           .         .         .         .         .  1 48 

last  oracle,  the           .....  5 

lykh-wake  song,  a        ....         .  300 


326 


INDEX    TO    POEMS 


MARCH  :    AN    ODE         ..... 

NEAP-TIDE  ...... 

NEW    year's    day       ..... 

NIGHT         ....... 

NOCTURNE  ...... 

ODE  (le  TOMBEAU  DE  THEOPHILE  gautier) 

OLIVE  ....... 

PAN    AND    THALASSIUS  .... 

PASTICHE  ...... 

RECALL,    THE  ..... 

RELICS       ....... 

reiver's    NECK-VERSE,    A  .  .  . 

RHYME,    A  .....  . 

RIZPAH      ....... 

SEAMEW,    TO    A 

SESTINA    ....... 

SONG  ....... 

SONG    IN    SEASON,    A  .  .  .  . 

SONNET  (with  A  COPY  OF  MADEMOISELLE  DE 
MAUPIN)       ...... 

TAYLOR,    ON    THE    DEATH    OF    SIR    HENRY 

TOURNEUR,    CYRIL     ..... 

TRIADS       ....... 

TWO    LEADERS  ..... 

TYNESIDE    WIDOW,    THE      .... 

VILLON,    A    BALLAD    OF    FRANCOIS 

VILLON,  TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  FRENCH  01< 
THE  COMPLAINT  OF  THE  FAIR  ARMOURESS 
A    DOUBLE    BALLAD    OF    GOOD    COUNSEL 


187 
264 
284 
269 

172 

256 
240 
100 

274 
27 
301 
252 
147 

37 
103 

III 

74 

277 

97 
122 

118 

316 

98 

149 
154 


327 


INDEX    TO    POEMS 


FRAGMENT    ON    DEATH  .  .  .  . 

BALLAD    OF    THE    LORDS    OF    OLD    TIME 
BALLAD    OF    THE    WOMEN    OF    PARIS     . 
BALLAD    WRITTEN    FOR    A    BRIDEGROOM 
BALLAD  AGAINST  THE   ENEMIES  OF   FRANCE 
THE    DISPUTE  OF  THE  HEART  AND    BODY    OF 
FRAN9OIS    VILLON  .  .  .  . 

EPISTLE    IN    FORM     OF     A    BALLAD     TO     HIS 

FRIENDS       ..... 
THE    EPITAPH    IN    FORM    OF    A    BALLAD 

VISION    OF    SPRING    IN    WINTER,    A 

WASTED    VIGIL,    A       . 

WEARY    WEDDING,    THE 

WHITE    CZAR,    THE    . 

WITCH-MOTHER,    THE 

WINDS,    THE       . 

WORD  WITH  THE  WIND,  A 

YEAR  OF  THE  ROSE,  THE 


PAGE 

161 
163 

167 
169 
104 

43 
288 

14s 
302 

299 

260 

39 


o  -I  1 


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